


Sincere Pieces

by LikeArrowsInTheHand



Category: Broken by Madison Faye, Winchester Academy
Genre: Alternate Ending, Anal Sex, Canon Genderbending, Complete, Established Relationship, Everyone Is Gay, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Finding Love, Happily Ever After, M/M, Madison Faye Adult Fiction, Male Slash, Mind Blowing Orgasm, Modern Era, Motorcycles, Oral Sex, POV Male Character, Painting, Porn With Plot, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Rewriting books, Rimming, Romance, Romance Novel, Same but now gay, Secret Relationship, Sex in a Car, Sexual Content, Straight Story Made Gay, Taboo, Tattoos, Teacher-Student Relationship, Winchester Academy Book 3, consent is important, hot for teacher, sex in an alley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 04:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26347459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeArrowsInTheHand/pseuds/LikeArrowsInTheHand
Summary: A super-gay rewrite of “Broken” (Winchester Academy, Book 3) by Madison Faye which is about a couple getting it on and then finding out that they are teacher and (18yr old) student. The teacher tries to stop it from happening again but said student is too delicious to turn away. Made gay because that makes it better. Also, changes to canon drama so be warned. Enjoy the multiple sex scenes. Notes: Emily is now Emile and the title is from the poem “Broken-down Girl” by Jean Valentine.
Relationships: Ethan Scott/(Male)Emily Hayes, Ethan Scott/Emile Hayes





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vmkc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vmkc/gifts).



**Chapter 1 (includes intro and prologue)**

_Note to self: don't sleep with the gorgeous, tattooed, motorcycle-driving man after a friend's train wreck of a bachelor party._

_Especially not when he looks at you like he wants to devour you._

_Especially not when he's a little younger looking than you._

_Especially not when it turns out he's your newest student._

_Ethan Scott is the kind of man your mother warns you about. Reckless, cocky as fuck, damaged, beautiful, of course, and completely irresistible. And if that weren't a long enough laundry list of reasons to stay away?_

_...He's also eight years my junior, and my student at the private high school where I teach art._

_Winchester Academy's newest bad boy student - my student - is utterly off limits. The problem is, he's also gorgeous, tempting, addicting, and has me wrapped around his fucking finger._

_The other problem is, I already slept with him._

_He's the firecracker waiting to blow, the spark that set off the fire. He's broken, and this whole thing could break us both. But something about him makes me go crazy. Something about him makes me say yes instead of no._

_Something about him has me aching for more, no matter the consequences._

_...This might be a problem._

* * *

**Prologue**

Ethan

Rain hammers down across the roof and hood of the car like bullets, the thunder booming like cannons. Water pours in torrents down the outside windows, mimicking the sweat running in rivulets down both of our naked bodies.

The neon from the gas-station sign and the lightning flashes turns his skin orange and then white as he writhes under me. And when the thunder shatters the sky again, he's clamping down on my length, I can feel him so warm and tight, squeezing me as his pulse jumps and his moan catches in his throat.

Breaths pant, hands clench, lips bruise together, the windows fog up until they're opaque with our lust.

With our sin.

My hands grip his hips firmly as I use them for purchase as I plunge my cock into him over and over. His teeth nip at my lip and his fingers dig into my skin. My muscles bunch, abs clench, and my cock pulses as I grunt and rut into him, claiming him as my own.

This is wrong, what we're doing. So very wrong. Neither of us are under any illusions, either. We both know that if people found out about this, there'd be gasps and clutched pearls. There'd be scandal and ruin.

And yet, we can't stop. Us stopping this thing between us would be like trying to boil the ocean, or wall off the sun. Stopping this would be as improbable as stopping the world from turning. In fact, you might have a better shot at that than at taking me away from him.

"Ethan," his voice is deep and strained, gripping onto me, his breath catching and his body tensing as I plunge deep inside of him.

Fuck, he feels like heaven. So fucking good, and so fucking wrong. Maybe it's so good because it's so wrong. Or maybe he and I were destined to be like this. Maybe every step in both of our lives have led to this one, forbidden, illicit moment, where we both push morals and decency, and social norms and his professional ethics aside and just give the fuck in to our base, animalistic desires.

Maybe I don't give a shit what the reason is, or how wrong this is. Because he's everything to me, and no ethics, or morals, or society or any of that shit is going to tell me otherwise.

Thunder booms, his fingers leave bruises on my inked skin, and I growl as I feel his walls clench down on me even tighter. Lighting flashes, and when our eyes lock in the heady, neon light through the fogged-up windshield of his beat up old Jeep Grande Wagoneer, it's like we're in the middle of the storm itself.

We grind into each other as the winds howl and thunder splits the sky, rain pelting down and his delicious, tight, perfect ass enveloping my cock so thoroughly, I can feel him start to fall.

And in that moment, like any moment with him, none of it matters. It doesn't matter that they'd say this is wrong. It doesn't matter that the media would shred us to pieces.

…It doesn't matter that I'm eighteen years old, or that the man taking my cock and about to come so hard for me is my twelfth grade art teacher.

All that matters is that he's mine.

Lightning sears across our retinas, thunder shakes the very car around us, and the rain slams against the roof like fucking hail. He grunts, his fingers digging even more into my skin, his lips crushing to mine. And when I feel him tighten and clench around my length, he pulls me down and I plunge myself as deep into him as I can as he shatters below me.

He's my teacher. I'm his student. Separate, we're damaged. Together?

Well, I want to say together we're perfect. But the truth is that it might be more, that together, we're a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

He's the fuse, I'm the match. And this town has no fucking idea of the powder-keg it's sitting on.

Our lips bruise together, his body moves against me, and the storm rages around us.

Tick.

Tick.

Boom.

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

Emile

"You want a what?"

The bartender at the Crest and Anchor gives me an odd look as he shouts the question over the screaming crowd filling the place.

"A vieurre carre"

He frowns, shaking his head.

"That's a cocktail, you know."

Of course it's a cocktail.

"Yeah, I know."

His brow furrows and he shakes his head as he turns to make it. I could, and probably should be a little peeved at the benign sexism of his being so shocked that a man might want a cocktail to drink. But, whatever. Pick your battles, I guess. He's older, and the bar is used to snobby golfer or yachting types and their trophy wives who drink vodka or bubbles. And honestly, I don't give a shit what he thinks as long as he can make my drink.

"Hey!"

I turn, or more specifically, I'm yanked around by Curtis, the best man and tonight's official "party king." Curtis and I aren't really that close, but we're both great friends with Shane, the groom-to-be who's bachelor party we're all out for tonight. Shane, by the way, who's about to become one of those aforementioned yachting types when he marries Donna — twenty-five years his senior, three divorces under her belt, more money than she knows what to do with Donna.

"Drink, bitch!" Curtis slurs with a huge grin on his face, shoving a flute of Dom Perignon my way.

"Nah, no thanks." I shake my head. "Champagne gives me a headache."

"Booo!" he drunkenly slurs at me. "How can you turn down the good stuff?"

I'm not nearly drunk enough for tonight. Not enough to deal with Shane's fraternity brothers. Or the fact that had history gone another way, tonight would have been my bachelor party. But, it goes without saying that canceling the wedding eight months before, because you find out your fiancé is banging his secretary, also cancels the bachelor party too. No shit.

Like I said, I'm not nearly drunk enough for this night right now.

Curtis tries to push the champagne on me again, but I say no once more.

"I just ordered a—"

"Hey!"

I blink as he seamlessly interrupts me with a sly, drunk grin.

"That guy is looking at you again."

I groan inside.

Fuck.

"That guy" is tall, and built, yes. And rolling in it by the cut of his suit. And clearly has been staring at me all night. But he also clearly has "rich pompous douchebag" written all over his face.

Yeah, no thanks. Even eight months post-breakup with Jason without a single rebound fling, I have zero interest in Mr. Preppy Popped-collar Douche sipping his light beer.

"Man," Curtis sighs, hugging me aggressively before pulling back and giving me this sad-puppy look. "You are so much better off without that loser ex. I mean fuck James!"

"Jason."

"Huh?"

"Ja—never mind. Yeah, fuck him."

He grins.

"Soooo, finish my drink, and go over to that dude making eyes at you and get your freak on, man!"

I'd rather fuck my shower nozzle, I think to myself, sarcastically at first before I realize how much better of an idea that sounds like.

"Vieux Carre?"

I turn towards the still skeptical bartender and drop some cash on the bar and take the drink. One sip has me sighing. Two has me smiling. A third has me actually feeling better.

Yeah, it's been a shitty year. First, there was coming home to find Jason with his secretary's suede Berlutis over his shoulders on our bed. Berlutis, as it turns out, he bought him with money from our honeymoon fund. Classy as fuck, I know.

So, that pretty much closed that chapter. Relationship gone, wedding canceled, oh, and place to live gone, since without Jason splitting the rent, I couldn't afford the place by myself. Luckily, I'd just been hired for my new gig as the art teacher at Winchester Academy, and they actually had an option for me to live right on campus, at least temporarily, in faculty housing.

So, that's my life right now. Single, pathetic, and finally giving up my dreams of being a professional artist in favor of teaching it to some of the most entitled, snobby, wealthy high school students on earth at the prestigious and snooty Winchester Academy.

What's the saying? Those who cannot do, teach?

I quickly slam back another few sips of my drink, until I can feel the warmth radiating through my limbs.

The one upside to this bachelor party is that we're out bar hopping in Southworth, the very town that Winchester is in. Which means I'm just a quick cab ride home. And that is fine with me, seeing how much I'm going to have to drop to get to Shane's actual wedding in a few months, in fucking Napa.

At least when I sold out my dream for a paycheck, it was for a decent paycheck. More than professional painters make, that's for sure. That's what comes with working for the best of the best in private schools. Or at least, the most sought after for rich trust-fund brats. And rich trust-fund brats come from rich trust-fund parents. And rich trust-fund parents pay a lot for their brats to go to Winchester. So, the pay is decent.

Curtis dances away into a crowd of girls also out tonight, but I hang back at the bar, finishing my drink as quickly as possible. And I'm pretty damn close to ordering another one, when suddenly I grunt as a hand comes down on my ass and lingers there.

"So, we done playing games, sweet cheeks?"

I step forward, yanking myself away from his hand on my ass as I glare at him. It's the douche-bag from before, the one Curtis seems to think is a great fit for me for… who the hell knows for what reasons.

"Did you just put your hand on my ass?"

He grins, shrugging.

"Maybe."

"Don't do that."

He laughs. "Oh, are we gonna play that game?"

My brow furrows. "What game?"

"You gonna pretend you haven't been eye-fucking me all night?"

I stare at him. "If by 'eye-fucking' you mean 'I-want-you-to-stop-staring-at-me-like-a-fucking-creep', then yes. That's exactly what I've been doing."

The man scowls, the grin fading.

"Your friend didn't say you'd be this much of a virgin you know."

"What friend."

He nods past me, and I turn to see Curtis beaming at me, a thumb raised in the air.

Dammit.

"So, you wanna get out of here?"

I stare at him blankly.

"Are you serious?"

His grin widens as he spreads his hands wide.

"What can I say, baby, it's your lucky day."

I laugh, snorting my drink as I turn away from him.

"Not a chance, bye."

I make it two steps before suddenly, it happens again. That fucking hand of his swats against my ass, and he holds it there as the fury blazes through me.

Fuck this.

I whirl and before he can say another word, I yank my arm out his hold and swing it back hard, hitting him in the stomach. The guy gasps and stumbles back, sputtering in rage.

"You fucking cunt!"

"Keep your fucking hands to your—!"

"Fuck you!"

I get slightly worried when I see that the asshole charges right at me, my fists go up at the ready. Suddenly though, the bartender and both bouncers are right there, pulling him back as he hurls curses at me.

"Ross! Easy now!" the bartender, who seems to know him, gets between us. "Take a breath, buddy. What happened?"

"This crazy fucker just hit me!"

I stare at him, my jaw dropping.

"Are you serious? He grabbed my ass! Twice!"

"The fuck I did, you self-absorbed asshole!"

"You fuc—"

"That true?"

The bartender stares at me angrily.

"That he grabbed my ass twice and was a total creep? Damn right it—"

"That you hit him."

I blink. "Not hard enough."

He glances at both bouncers and sighs.

"Get him out of here."

"Now, hang on!"

I shout, swearing as the two guys take my arms and start to pull me through the crowd.

"What the fuck!"

Ross, the real asshole, grins at me as he follows.

"What can I say, babe? They know me here." He winks. "It helps that I'm an investor. Too bad you couldn't just be a good boy and play nice."

I lunge at him in a rage, ready to beat his stupid fucking face in, but get stopped by the bouncers. Shane rushes towards me, but I see Curtis take his arm and whisper something in his ear. They both look at me with this look of sympathy before Shane pushes his way towards me.

"Look, Em, just, you know… maybe go home and sleep it off?"

"Shane, I didn't—"

"You had a rough year," Curtis chimes in from behind Shane, reaching out with a phony look on his face to pat my arm like I'm a fucking puppy. "No one blames you, okay? But, you know, it's Shane's night. Maybe it's best if you go. You know, back to your dorm."

Even Shane can't hide the little smile at that last one, and my mouth tightens as Curtis leads him away and the bouncers pull me outside.

They can seriously go fuck themselves.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself and trying to cool my temper. I push my fingers through my dark hair, looking up into the early fall night and sighing.

I need another drink.

In truth, I'm more than buzzed and on my way to being drunk after this long night of drinking. But after whatever the hell just happened in that pretentious shitty bar, I need something else before I go home to my pathetic "dorm"—aka, my tiny faculty housing.

I don't spare a look back as I storm off down the sidewalk in the direction of Winchester. I pass another bar, but it's closing, and I grumble as I keep walking, wondering if I've still got half a bottle of whiskey in my fridge. I round the corner, and I'm about to grab my phone and order a cab back to campus, when something catches my eye.

I turn, looking down the empty, half dark alley behind the second bar, and when my eyes spot him, my breath catches.

Damn, he's good. Really, really good.

He's tall, and built, and I can see the ink of his tattoos rippling on his bare arms under his t-shirt as he raised them, spray-can in hand. The green mist hisses out, his arm moving in a slow sweep, highlighting the dark lines he's already laid down on the wall. And I watch, my mouth half open in surprise as I take in this man spray-painting a beautiful mural in the alley.

And then, without my permission, my body takes a step into the alley. And then another.

…And then I just keep going.

I walk closer and closer to him, my eyes sweeping over his stunning painting. He's standing next to a parked motorcycle, and I watch as he caps the bottle in his hand and sticks in the saddlebag hanging of the back of the bike. He pulls out another one, his biceps rippling as he gives it a shake and then begins to spray again.

Suddenly, my foot steps on a piece of broken glass, shattering the silence. The man whirls towards me, and when he does, and when my eyes lock on his, and I stop breathing for a second.

Holy shit.

He's hot. Tattooed, rough-looking, intense, and gorgeous. And when his piercing blue eyes blaze into mine, I feel the air quietly leave my lungs suddenly.

He's young as well. Perhaps younger than I am even. He's perfect. Chiseled face, aristocratic cheekbones, soft defined lips, and those piercing blue eyes. And built muscular and lithe, like a fighter. His eyes burn into mine, and the slightest smirk teases those utterly captivating lips as he pivots his hips to the side and brings his empty hand up to rake his fingers through his dark hair.

I want to sketch him.

No, you want to fuck him.

I furiously try to banish the X-rated thoughts before he clears his throat and nods his chin at me.

"You a cop?"

I scoff, a little too loudly, before I catch myself.

"No."

He nods, his eyes dragging over every inch of me in a way that has my skin warm before he turns. He caps his spray bottle, sticks it in his bike's saddlebag, and starts to zip it up before I frown and shake my head.

"Hold up, you done?"

"No, but I wasn't looking for an audience."

I lick my lips. "Sorry, look, I'll just leave."

I turn, but I stop myself, before looking at him again.

"You're really good."

"I know."

The smile creeps over my lips as I roll my eyes at the grin on his face.

"Cocky, as well."

His grin widens. "I know that too."

I shift my weight as I nod at the mural—this dream-like wooded scene of mountains and forests and swirling ethereal clouds. This isn't just some delinquent defacing a wall, he's painting a fucking masterpiece back here.

"That's really beautiful. And spray paint is a tough medium to work with."

He shrugs. "It takes a bit of getting used to." He eyes me. "You know how to draw?"

"A bit."

An undergraduate degree in fine art with an MFA in Renaissance painting.

He grins wolfishly as he grabs a spray can out of the bag and hands it to me before he jerks his head at the wall.

"Go ahead."

I pinch my lips before responding.

"I don't know. I've never really used spray—"

"I'll show you."

His deep voice rumbles through the air between us, and I swallow as heat raises in me. He's definitely younger than me, that I can see. But at least a couple inches taller, and built, and so fucking hot. He tugs my free hand and before I know it, he's taken my arm in his firm, warm grip and tugged me closer to the mural.

"Go head. Try adding some trees over here."

I take a deep breath, raise the can, and spray. I laugh nervously.

"Can't we get in trouble for this?"

"Probably," he purrs, close behind me in a way that makes my cock twitch and my pulse skip. "Isn't that more fun though?"

He moves closer to me as I raise the can and spray again. This time, I start to get the hang of how to keep my arm moving, and as the paint sprays out, I start to make lines, and then more of them. The trees start to take shape, and I find myself mimicking his style as I go. The lines aren't great, but I make do. And really, it's like sketching with charcoal, only it's more liquid.

I give it one more arc of my arm before I step back. The stranger whistles behind me.

"Well, shit you're really good."

I turn, shrugging casually. "I know," I say sarcastically, and he grins.

"Cocky, as well," he growls low as he steps towards me. Our eyes meet and lock, and when he takes another step right into my personal space, my heart races as a shiver travels down my spine.

"I know," I whisper.

He steps right into me, and when he pulls the can out of my hand, I don't stop him. Just like I don't stop him when his other hand slides over my waist and pulls me close. The liquor and adrenaline courses through me like fire.

"Sexy, too," he purrs quietly and intensely, staring right into me. I swallow thickly, and suddenly reach up to pluck my thick-rimmed glasses off. But he shakes his head, his hand coming up to stop mine.

"You need those, right?"

I shrug. "Sure, but they're…" I roll my eyes. "I mean they're kinda dork—"

"They're kinda hot is what they are," he growls as he moves right against me, making me moan as he pushes me back until I'm flat against the wall next to the mural.

"Who—" I swallow, eyes burning into his, the heat between us reaching a boiling point as his hand tightens on my waist, the other flat against the wall next to me as he leans close. "Who are you?"

His eyes spark, and that same wicked grin creeps over his gorgeous lips and jaw.

"Does it matter?"

"No," I say barely audibly before our lips meet, in the roughest, fiercest, wildest, hottest kiss I've ever felt in my life. I groan into him, my mouth opening eagerly for his demanding tongue as his rock-hard body presses to mine. The hand at my waist slides down and around to cup my ass, squeezing it like it belongs to him and bringing a moan to my lips. He grinds against me, and I kiss him even more eagerly as I feel the thick, throbbing bulge in his jeans rub against mine. He moans and I know he feels my erection.

His hand went between us to undo my fly. He teases me over my boxers. Rubbing me through the material. He finds the opening and I feel his big fingers stroke me, teasing my aching cock. He growls into the kiss when his fingers touch my wet cock-head. He strokes my tip possessively, I know I'm going to let him do anything he wants to me and love every fucking second of it.

I pull back for one second, our eyes locking before mine dart over his gorgeous face. Dark hair, a perfect amount of stubble on his strong, chiseled jaw, and those piercing blue eyes that take my breath away. And he's young. Up close, he's definitely younger than me.

I pause, biting my lip and moaning as his fingers wrap around me and pumps. Thumb on my head, making me gasp and that groan in pleasure as he rubs the frenulum.

"Wait, how—" My eyes close in pleasure as he teases my cock, my voice failing. "…How old are you?" I manage to get out as my hands drop to his belt, tugging at it eagerly as his lips tease over my neck.

"Old enough," he growls into my ear, making me moan as his breath teases over me.

"How old—"

"Old enough to fuck you like you've never been fucked before, beautiful."

His lips find mine once again. I yank at his zipper and when I feel him pull out my cock with one hand and his fingers spread my cheeks with the other, I already know I'm lost.

Hopelessly, willingly, achingly lost


	2. 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Emile

His tongue swirls with mine, and I moan as I feel the rippling muscles of his abs flexing under my fingers as they rake over his skin. I pull at his buckle, a million "what are you doings" screaming through my head. But I push them all away as my hands slip lower to his zipper.

What I'm doing is crazy, but maybe that's exactly what I need right now. I need some crazy. I need some bad decisions.

…I need the man with the beautiful, piercing blue eyes and the hard abs pinning me to the wall of the alley while he kisses me like no one's ever kissed me before.

He uses my own arousal as lubrication and his fingers slowly ease into my ass, curling deep and stroking against that magic spot. I cry out, moan into his mouth as I eagerly undo his zipper. I push my hands into his jeans, but when I feel the huge bulge throbbing against the cotton of his boxers, a thrill of heat blazes through me.

Holy fuck.

I swallow, panting into his lips as my fingers trace the edge of his boxers, before finally sliding in. They trace down the grooves of his lower abs, following the treasure trail of hair down lower, and lower as my pulse thunders through me and my stranger growls into my lips. His palm grinds against my perineum, making me drip more and more until his forearm is covered in my arousal.

My hands push lower, skimming his boxers and jeans down over his hips, until suddenly, my fingers find what I've been looking for.

…My pulse skips.

Good. Fucking. Lord.

He's huge. Well, thick, that's for fucking sure. I tremble as my hand goes to circle his cock, realizing my fingers don't even touch. He growls into me, his big fingers rubbing my hole as my own hand slides down his fat cock. And down. And down, until with a moan, my fingers finally find the head of him.

Okay, not just thick. Thick and so fucking long.

His hand moves to his jeans, helping me push them down until his big dick springs out to slap hotly against mine. I almost whimper, my hand finding him again and stroking us together. I can feel the sticky hot drips of our precum mixing. We kiss hungrily before I pull back.

"I want you to fuck me," I tell him.

"I know."

He turns me around and kicks my legs apart. I brace myself on the wall. His mouth latches onto my neck and uses his finger to get me ready. He enters me slowly, taking his time gathering more of our precum. He pushes my pants down even further and pushes me down so I'm slightly bent over.

He growls into my ear as he eases his hips forward, and when that big cock pushes into me, I grunt in pain and pleasure. He groans as he stops, that huge cock pulsing just inside of me, giving me time to adjust. He reaches around and grabs my cock, stroking, helping me relax. We're both panting from the strain. I push back against him to let him know he can go on. He pushes again, sliding another inch into me as my walls ripple around him and my hands try to find purchase on the wall. With an animalistic grunt, he drives in, and this time, he doesn't stop, pushing in and in and in as I moan in pleasure until every damn inch of his beautiful cock is buried to the hilt inside of me.

"Such a delicious ass, gorgeous," he moans into my ear.

He pulls out, biting at my neck, his hands gripping my hips tight before he suddenly drives right back in. I curse in pleasure, my body pushing back to meet him and my mind going blissfully blank. His huge cock pushes deeper into me than anything I've ever felt, teasing me and stroking me in ways I've never even imagined as his muscled body coils against me. He draws out and then slams right back in, and everything starts to fade to pure bliss.

He's release. He's a balm on the chaos that is my life right now. He's the mistake I've been dying to make.

He's biting my neck and gripping my sweaty skin, moaning over and over. His big cock plunges into me, the sound of it obscene and filthy in my ears as it mingles with our raw, animalistic groans of pleasure. His heavy balls slap my ass, his fingers dig into my skin, and his lips leave marks down my neck that I know I'll regret later but desperately want more of right now.

"You want to come on my cock, gorgeous?" he grunts into my ear, making me actually whimper. "Let me feel you come for me. Be a good boy and fucking come for me."

His filthy words tease, he thrusts deep, he pumps my aching cock faster, and suddenly, it all explodes around me. I scream into my forearm, muffling it, as the orgasm slams into me. He doesn't let up. He keeps fucking me right through my climax, nailing me to the fucking wall with that big, beautiful cock making my orgasm seem never ending.

With a roar, he drives in deep. I feel him swell and thicken inside of me even more, and suddenly, I feel it. I moan as I feel the first pulse of his hot cum jet into me, and I swear it feels like he's filling me to the brim with just one blast. He growls into my ear, thrusting again as another spurt of his cum pumps into me.

He pulls out, and I groan as ropes of his cum land on my ass. I turn around and grab him. His lips find mine, and when he kisses me deeply, he rubs his cock against mine, making me moan as aftershocks shoot through me before we come to a staggering stop.

Panting, I kiss him with everything I have, trying to process the fact that I just had hands down, without question, the hottest sex of my life. With a stranger. In an alley.

With a final kiss, he slowly pulls away from me, and I curse as I feel his hot cum begin to drip out of me. He tugs my pants back into place, cupping me with his hand and grinning hungrily at me as he feels them start to soak through with our cum.

He takes my hand, and tugs me over to his bike. We both sit against it, panting, and when his arm circles my shoulders and pulls me close, I let him and drop my head to his shoulder.

"Fuck," I growl quietly.

My gorgeous stranger chuckles, his hand stroking my arm as he turns to kiss my temple.

"Fuck is right," he replies in kind.

He reaches into the saddlebag on his bike and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. My face sours as I watch him bring the pack to his mouth and use his lips to draw one out. He glances down at me and grins when he sees the look on my face.

"What?"

"That's a shitty habit, you know. It can kill you."

His brows arch in amusement. "Yeah? But not strangers in alleyways?"

I glare at him, but when I see him put the cigarette back in the pack and toss it back in his bag, I flash him a smile. He turns back to me, and when he leans down and tilts my head up with two fingers under my chin, we both moan as his lips find mine.

"Give me your number."

I pull away, biting my bottom lip. I eye him, but slowly, I shake my head.

"That's going to be a no."

He grins.

"Yeah? Why not."

"I don't—I mean, I never do this."

"Do what."

"One-night stands." I hope my face isn't red.

I lean and kiss him before I pull away. Part of me doesn't want to, but the rest of me already has its mind made up. As gorgeous and as mysterious as he is, and as fucking amazing as that just was, this was a one-time thing.

My first one-time thing, but a one-time thing nonetheless.

I stand, taking a deep fortifying breath and smooth out my clothes. I grimace as I adjust my pants, feeling our cum soaking into them right against my ass and cock. He stands too, and when I turn to look at him, I almost give in to the intensity in those blue eyes.

"So let's make it not a one night thing."

I rake my teeth over my lip.

"I—" I shake my head, swallowing. "I have to go."

He says nothing as I pull close to him, tilting my head a bit, and kiss him softly. He moans quietly, his hands sliding over me and down to cup my ass.

Slowly, we come apart, and I start to back away back up to the main street, my eyes never leaving his.

"Tonight was…" I don't know what to say to describe it. "Nice to meet you, stranger."

The slightest hint of a smile teases those sinful lips, and when he folds his tattooed arms over his broad chest and leans back against his bike like the hottest biker fantasy in the world, I regret every single step that pulls me away from him.

But, come on. This is the definition of a one-time thing.

"Nice to meet you too," he whispers seductively, his eyes burning into me. "See you around, stranger."

There's a buzz in my veins and a spring in my step as I walk into work the next day. I know I'm grinning like, well, like I just got laid, but screw it.

All I know is, last night was amazing, and nothing is going to take the glow away from me today.

* * *

I arrived at the art room early to prepare some things for lessons today, since I was out so late last night. I organize my notes and go over the PowerPoint slides of the Impressionist paintings we'll be going over today. I glance at the clock, still smiling as I see that I've got a few extra minutes to start tackling some projects before any students arrive.

My eyes land on the row of lockers at the back of the room that hold painting smocks and other "mess" clothes. Especially, at the box of papers sitting on top of the lockers that I've had a mental "deal with this" note for months. I march back there, dragging a chair over and standing on it as I reach into the box and start pulling out crap.

The bell rings, and it's not long before I hear the door open and students start to file in for first period.

"Morning Mr. Hayes."

"Hey Professor."

I smile, half turning and nodding at a few students as they filter in before turning back to the box and reaching for the last file folder of old papers.

"Hey, teach."

I frown at the "teach" part, but I don't turn around.

"Yes?"

"I'm supposed to give you this."

I roll my eyes at the casual, almost cocky tone.

"I'm… okay. Can you just put it on the desk? I'm a little tied up right now."

"I'm supposed to give it to you."

"Yeah, I get that," I mutter.

"I'm your new student."

I pause. Shit, that's right. I vaguely recall the message about a new Winchester student arriving today.

"Right! Okay, you must need—"

I turn, and suddenly, the whole world tilts on its axis. I clench my jaw to stop it from falling open but my eyes go wide, and my heart feels like it stops.

His eyes go wide as well—his sharp, gorgeous, piercing blue eyes—in recognition. And then slowly, just like I watched him do it before, his perfect lips pull into a cocky, smug smile.

And then I fall.

Literally.

The world spins, and gravity goes topsy-turvy before I suddenly find myself teetering on the stupid chair and then tumbling right off it with a startled shout.

…Right into his arms.

I'm breathless, my pulse racing, my skin burning, and a sinking sensation tightening in my stomach as I look up right into the eyes of the man from the night before.

The man who kissed me like I've never been kissed before. The man who touched me like no one ever has. The man who fucked me, against the brick wall in an alley, and made me come harder than anything I've ever even imagined. That's the man who catches me in my classroom when I fall right into him.

No, not "man."

The boy.

My new student.

Oh my fucking luck.

He grins smugly, his perfect lips pulling wide as he winks at me.

"Well hey, stranger."


	3. 3

**CHAPTER 3**

Ethan

Well, shit.

It took one look last night. One look into the eyes of the guy who appeared out of nowhere in that alley with the fire in those big dark eyes and the sass written across his gorgeous face, and I knew I wanted him. And not like a passing, temporary sort of want either. No, fuck that.

I looked at him, and I wanted him. All of him, always, all to myself. And I had him, too. I tasted those warm, wet, lips and felt the way his skin grew hot under my touch. Moaning into my lips as I stroked his big cock and teasingly rubbed his perfect hole. The way he clenched tight around my pulsing cock. I felt the way he came, gripping my cock, exploding in my hand, while trying to quiet his shouts of ecstasy.

And then, like a fucking idiot, I let him walk away.

But here we are, here of all places, with him right back where he belongs. In my arms. And this shit just got very, very interesting.

His eyes go wide as he stares up into mine, the color draining from his face before he sputters and starts to squirm.

"What are you—put me down!" He hisses.

I grin.

"You sure about—"

"Now!"

Our eyes lock, and the fire only starts to burn hotter inside me.

Yeah, fuck. This just got very interesting.

I don't exactly know what I was expecting coming back here to Southworth. To Winchester. But it sure as hell wasn't this. It sure as hell wasn't realizing that the gorgeous guy who shattered my whole world last night and who I haven't stopped thinking about for one second since turns out to be my fucking high school art teacher.

My stranger has a name, and it's Emile Hayes. Off-limits, forbidden, Mr. Hayes.

Yeah, not what I expected coming back to Southworth. But then, the truth is, I was never really "here" before, even when we did live here. Back then, our mom was still around, even if barely, and our dad was still trying to pretend that if he worked harder and longer hours, it would all be fine. But even back then, we knew it was all going to fall apart.

"We" is Jamison, my fraternal twin brother, and me. And back then, it was really just him at home dealing with all of the bullshit. Me? I was already doing my first stint in Juvie. Of course, when you're rich and also a troublemaker, people assume you're going to some fancy summer-camp type place to just yuck it up with other rich brats.

They're wrong.

Our dad might be rich, but he wasn't always. Before his construction firm started pulling enough for us to live in a place like Southworth and for Jamison and I to go to a school like fucking Winchester, Bobby Scott was a guy from the wrong side of town who knew how to use a hammer and saw. So, no, dad didn't fuck around with sending me to some private school day-camp after I got arrested at thirteen. He sent me to Lenox Hall—"get your shit together or get your shit fucked up" Lenox Hall. And honestly, it's probably the best thing he could have ever done for me.

When I went away back then, the whole shit-show back home sort of fell apart. Mom finally took off for good on some kind of bender, and dad finally decided he'd had enough of her shit. They divorced, dad and Jamison moved away, and I learned to be a man instead of a douchey little punk at Lenox.

Five years later, and here we are. The Scotts are back in Southworth. Dad's finally found his second chance in Celia Weiss, a woman he kept in touch with after he moved, and they're about to tie the knot. And I'm happy for him, really. He deserves it. Apparently, Jamison and Celia's daughter Ramona, who's also a senior here at Winchester, used to fight like cats and dogs. So, that's going to be interesting, seeing as she's going to be our new stepsister, but he'll get over it.

Yeah, we're back, but that part I don't have to be happy with. I had this place pegged from a young age. Maybe it was that my parents weren't born with the wealth most families in this town and most kids at this school are born with. Whatever it was, I saw this fucking town for what it was: squeaky clean, and stuffed full of snooty, rich, entitled little brats. And now here Jamison and I are—the two new tattooed bad boys of Southworth.

Okay, maybe Jamison's slightly better than me. I mean the guy never pulled the shit I did back before. He never went to a place like Lenox Hill. But still. Neither of us is exactly the polo-shirt-wearing, Audi-driving, varsity-football-jacket-wearing, trust-fund prick that tends to go to Winchester.

I knew this year was going to be interesting. But shit, as of last night?

Well, "interesting" might be the understatement of the fucking century. Because apparently, last night I had the best sex I've ever had in that alley with my new fucking art teacher.

"What are you doing here?!" he hisses under his breath.

I grin.

Oh, he's not putting this together yet. Or he is, and refusing to believe it. I mean, I might be in denial if I were in his shoes too. But then, I've been in a lot more than his shoes…

Teachers are supposed to be straight-laced. I mean they're not real people, they're your teacher. But him? Oh, he's real alright. I know he wears black silk boxers. I know he's got a tattoo on his back. I know he's got his pubic hair shaved completely, giving full access to his glorious cock, balls and hole.

He still looks nerdy as hell with those glasses, but damn is it hot. Especially when he's looking at me with that mix of accusation, nervousness, and heat.

I hand him the sheet from the main office again.

"I'm your new student."

He swallows, shaking his head and clenching his jaw. His eyes dart all over me like he's trying to figure out if I'm really standing here.

"You—no, you're not."

I grin. "Yeah, I am."

"No, you're—"

His face pales.

"How old are you?!" He hisses quietly and urgently through pressed lips.

My smile widens.

"You sure you want to know that?"

Okay, I'm fucking with him, but how can I not?

"You—" His face turns white as snow. "Oh sh…."

"I mean if you know, it might be worse for you," I say with a sigh.

"But I didn't know!" He hisses, his eyes wide. "No, no, no, no…." he turns away, panting, his breath coming fast and his feet unsteady.

I frown as I move in.

"Whoa, hang—"

He whirls, and when he starts to stagger, I lunge in to help.

"I'm eighteen, relax," I say quietly.

He swallows, looking up at me with a scowl on his face.

"Oh, yes, that's so much better," he mutters.

"I mean, it is, legally."

He glares fiercely.

"I gotta say, teach," I sigh, grinning as I rake my fingers through my hair. "You gave a way better school intro than I was expecting."

He's angry now. "I was not—!" His jaw tightens again. "I did not know who you were!"

"Clearly—"

"And I never do that!"

"Well, you did." I grin as I move closer to him, my eyes locked on his. "We did."

My hand reaches out to him, and when it slides over his hip—the very hip I grabbed last night while I plunged my cock deep in his eager little hole. I feel him lean into my hand before freezing and suddenly stepping back from me.

"Don't—" he swallows. "Take your hand off of me."

"You sure?"

There's a half second of hesitation from him that brings a grin to my face.

"Yes," he spits out, glancing past me at the other students taking their seats.

"We're in class."

I shrug. "How about after class."

Heat blooms in his eyes, making them darker, and he swallows.

"Take a seat."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"This is inappropriate."

"I think we've established that."

I move closer to him again, and he stiffens, eyes dilated as he traces my features.

"People are looking," he whispers.

"I'm just giving you my new student papers, teach."

His body gives a slight jerk.

"Have a seat—" He says slowly, measured, restrained, and I grin.

"You don't know my name, do you."

He shifts his weight. "Do you know mine?"

"Mr. Hayes."

He takes a deep breath and looks away.

"Or do you prefer teach? Professor?" I frown. "It's not Mr as in Mrs, right? It's a miss mister, as in not married?"

"Not married", he snaps quietly, offended that I would call him a cheater. He squints his eyes at me and presses his lips. "You can call me Mr. Hayes."

"Teach might be more fun."

He glares at me.

"Or how about Emile?"

The glare intensifies, nose flaring.

"Have a seat Mister…" He snatches paper from my hand and glances at it. "Mr. Scott."

"Ethan," I purr.

"Ethan," he says quietly, his eyes dragging up to mine and lingering longer than they should.

"Sit down."

"So, is that a yes or no?"

His brow furrows. "For?"

"For after class?" I grin. "You, me?" I shrug. "Maybe we can pick up where we left—"

"Have a seat, Mr. Scott," he snaps hastily, glancing behind me at the milling students before pulling his eyes back to mine as he leans close. "That is never happening again," he hisses quietly. "It never did happen."

"It did."

"I'm not arguing about it like a child."

I sigh, raking my fingers through my hair. "Huh, you mean I made it up? I made up feeling my cock sinking into your tight little hole and you begging me to fuck you harder?" His eyes darken. "Did I dream about you coming on my cock? I mean, I did, afterwards. But the first time?" I smile, leaning close. "No, I'm pretty sure I was wide awake, Mr. Hayes."

"Mr. Scott—"

"Ethan works," I reply as I step right against him, making him take a deep breath in. "Did I make this up, too?"

I pull my dress shirt away from my collarbone, revealing the bruised bite marks from his mouth as he bit down on me to stop from moaning loudly while I stroked his cock the night before. His eyes take in the hickeys, and his face pales as he looks unsteady on his feet.

"I'm gonna sit, Mr. Hayes. But last night happened." I lean in close, inhaling the scent of him and his breath catches sharply.

"And it's gonna happen again."

"No, it's...!"

The bell rings, signaling the start of first period, and he steps back and glares at me.

"Sit."

"Sure thing, teach."

I turn and saunter away, finding an empty chair and sitting as Emile walks quickly to the front of the class. His eyes meet mine as he gets to the podium, and I grin as I see his eyes dilate before he hides it in the stack of notes he's holding.

Oh, this is going to be interesting all right.

Last night, I fucked my teacher. Last night, I got a taste of the forbidden.

…And now, I just want more.


	4. 4

**Chapter 4**

Emile

Mondays are for the lecture portion of the year's curriculum—the history lessons and all of that rather than just hands-on art. And today, we're picking up from last week with the French Impressionists.

Even though I get through the whole lesson acting normal, a distant part of my brain is scrambled. Thankfully, I'm not blushing like a hormonal teenager but my heart is still racing, the hair on my arms are on end. I appreciate the cover the podium provided because my cock has ignored that I'm at work.

I can feel the hard ridge of the zipper pressing against me. It has a mind of its own, the traitor.

This is so fucking wrong. So unbelievably wrong. And what happened last night is as horrifying to me now as it was toe-curling hot thirty seconds before he walked into my fucking classroom and called me "teach." Okay, sure, he's legal, in the most basic understanding of the law. Thank fucking goodness. But what the fuck was I thinking?

He's eight years younger than me. Later in life, that might not be much of an issue, I mean, society accepts men having younger lovers. But right now? When he's eighteen fucking years old?

I groan inside as I refocus on my lecture on Renoir. And I know that I'm glossing over the worst part about all of this, because it's almost too much to think about.

…The fact that he's my student.

It doesn't matter that I didn't know. It doesn't. This could ruin me and get me kicked out of here so fast my head will spin. And it's not like teaching was ever my dream, but I'm certain that if this ever got out, I could pretty much kiss ever teaching again goodbye. I'd be labeled a pervert.

But fuck, he was good.

I suppress the instinct to moan at the memory. Incredibly good. Like, stupidly, finding religion type good. I've never been fucked like that before. Not ever. Okay, it's not like I've gotten around a ton, which is surprising to a lot of my friends, screw stereotypes, not every guy fucks anything that walks. I like commitment. I'm twenty-six and there were a few boyfriends before Jason-the-cheater but zero one-night-stands. At least before last night and none of the men I've been with were like him.

…like Ethan Scott.

Dominant, powerful. Intense.

I have never been with someone like that before. So far I've attracted men that seem assertive but then lose it all in the bedroom. With him, I felt like the rest of the world faded away. That and I came so hard last night on his…

On his huge cock.

I am trying not to shift while thinking about it.

My eyes dart over him sitting there in the back row of class. I force myself with everything I have to keep scanning the room, so it looks like I'm looking at my students, not looking at him while I stop myself from daydreaming about the way he fucked me last night. I do it again, but this time, my eyes linger a half second too long before I look away.

Christ he's gorgeous. All lean, chiseled muscles, deep voice, and tattoos.

I groan inside. The best sex I've ever had in my life, and he's my eighteen-year-old student.

…I'm royally screwed.

I get through the lesson, because I'm a fucking professional and not a pubescent little shit. My inner ranting was cut off by the ring of the bell again. The room grows loud as the whole class stands, pushing chairs back from desks and grabbing bags as they start to filter out and leave.

He lingers.

The last of the class leaves. It's just him and I. And this time, my eyes linger right on him, with no-one else to look at to mask the fact. Last night, he was in a white t-shirt, jeans, and biker boots, looking like the embodiment of sex. Today, he's wearing the Winchester school uniform. Sort of. He's got the boys warm-weather uniform of a short-sleeved white dress shirt and dark grey slacks. But he's skipping the tie, and the short sleeves are rolled up another inch around his thick biceps. His full-sleeve and neck tattoos also did not fit into the Winchester dress code.

"You need to get to your next class," I say firmly, as the last student aside from him walks out, letting the door close behind her.

Ethan grins.

"That the best you came up with?"

"Pardon me?"

"To get me out of here."

"It's true, Mr. Scott."

"Ethan." His eyes hold mine. "I think we're on a first name basis, don't you, Emile?"

"Don't call me that."

He stands from his desk at the back and starts to walk towards me, and every single cell in my body yearns for it, even if my brain is trying to shut it down. He moves even closer, walking with bold confidence, his eyes never leaving mine until he's right in front of me.

"Don't!"

"What?" he purrs as his hand slides over my waist where my shirt tucks into my black trousers. I stupidly lean in and I try not to close my eyes.

"Don't…"

"Don't as in you don't want me to touch you, or don't as in we shouldn't."

I swallow thickly as my eyes drag to his.

"Both," I mutter, pushing his hand away from me.

"Liar."

"Excuse me?"

Ethan's eyes don't blink as they burn into mine.

"I called you a liar. So, let's try this again."

His hand moves right back to where it was on my waist, and this time, I sigh, my eyes fluttering shut as my already hard cock twitches..

"Do—"

"Yeah, don't, I got it," he says quietly. "But which one, Emile. You don't want me to touch you, or you don't think I should touch you."

I take a deep breath, my eyes still closed as his grip tightens on me.

"The second."

"Good answer," he growls.

"You need to get to class." My eyes open, and I almost shiver as his gaze burns right into me.

"You know how it is," he grins. "New student, new school. Don't know where shit is? I could get lost in here." He shrugs. "It's my first day, Emile. No one cares."

"They'll care here."

He moves closer, his body brushing mine, and I want to pull him in.

"I work here. Ethan, please go," I say stepping back and glancing at the door.

I can see the fire in his eyes.

"After school then."

"No, Ethan."

"Why not."

I give him a look. "You know why not."

"I know why you think you can't. But last night was good, Emile," he purrs. "Really, really good."

He closes the gap between us again and his hand slides around until his palm is at the small of my back, and when he tugs me against him, I moan quietly as I look up into his intense blue eyes.

"And I know you know it too."

"Ethan, last night was—"

"Don't."

I swallow.

"Don't what?"

"Don't be cliche and say it was a mistake, because we both know that's a lie."

He moves forward, pushing me back until my back is to the wall. My pulse thunders in my ears, my skin tingling with electric energy. His other hand drops to my buckle, and when he starts to tug at it, my eyes open wide as I gasp.

"Ethan!"

"Did you think about me last night?"

"Please—" I grunt.

"When you went home, after," he growls. "Did you play with yourself thinking about my cock?"

Oh fuck.

I moan quietly, my hands clutching at his rippling, inked forearms as he unzips me. My straining cock is relieved and I sigh. I want to give in, let him touch me again. The adult in me knows damn well that I should put a stop to this right the fuck now, but the rest of me won't let that happen.

He slides his hand into my boxers, teasing fingers rub my stomach, I gasp. He goes further in, his exploring fingers brushing my cock and I let my head fall back against the wall with a moan.

"Do you always get this hard talking about Monet, Emile?"

I moan again when his fingers expose my cock and wrap around it. I clutch him tighter, gasping. His fist slides easily up and down my shaft. My breath catches, and my body aches for him as he uses his other hand to roll my balls in his palm.

"Oh shit, Ethan…"

My eyes dart past him to the door to the classroom—the very unlocked door, at that.

"Someone…" he drops to his knees and drags his tongue over my slit, and I gasp sharply.

"Jesus Christ, what are we doing?" I hiss before I moan, loudly.

"I'm making you come in my mouth, Emile," he growls. "That's what I'm doing. Before I go to class."

He leans in, and I moan at his lips against my tip. He gives it a kiss..

"I'm going to make you come, Emile, so I can taste you whenever I want for the rest of the day."

I moan, panting, my hips rolling against his hand with a mind of their own as he eases my cock into his mouth.

"Someone might—someone could walk in and… oh fuck…"

He pops my cock out of his mouth and responds. "Then you should probably come quick for me," he growls, and swallows me. Hollowed cheeks sucking me, his one hand stroking the base of my cock, the other still playing with my balls. He takes me deeper and deeper until I feel his throat spasm around my cockhead. My knees are shaking and I'm clinging to his muscled shoulders for dear life.

"Ethan!'

He moans around my cock, his wet lips stretched, his eyes drilling into mine. It takes my breath away, and I'm helpless to stop it. I feel my balls twitch and he makes obscene slurping sounds as he masterfully bobs on my cock over and over and over until I'm clawing at my own sanity.

"Come for me, Mr. Hayes," his voice is a bit hoarse. "Come for me."

He takes me into his mouth one more time as his hands grab my ass pushing me forward into him. It's the last I can take. I gasp, my one hand tightening on his shoulder and the other covering my mouth, trying to silent the sounds of my release. The orgasm slams into me, flooding his mouth with my cum as I buck against his lips over and over, until I'm panting and sagging against the wall.

Ethan groans around my cock, swallowing most of my cum, before he stands. He's kissing me softly before he pulls away with a hungry grin on his face. I watch, face flushed, as he licks his hands clean of my cum, slowly sucking them clean with a low groan.

"So fucking sweet," he growls.

He licks his lips one more time before he leans in and presses his lips to mine, kissing me deeply. I moan and I taste myself on his lips. The realization almost makes me hard again.

Ethan pulls back, his hungry eyes sweeping over me as he grins wolfishly. His hand slips to my pants, where he tucks me back in.

"I better get to class, huh?"

All I can do is nod quietly as I swallow, my whole body still trembling from the orgasm. Ethan grins as he picks his bag up off of the ground behind him and slings it over one shoulder. He leans in, and I groan as he kisses me one last time.

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Hayes," he purrs.

He turns, sauntering out of the room and leaving me panting, wobbling on my feet, and aching for more.

Fuck, I'm in so much trouble.


	5. 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Ethan

"You get into any trouble yet?"

I grin at the sound of my brother's voice behind me. I dump the rest of my shit in my locker, grabbing the one book I apparently need for my math and statistics class with Professor Truman next period. And when I turn, there's Jamison, smirking at me.

Jamison and I aren't identical twins, but we do look pretty similar.. Or maybe in a place like Winchester, it's just that the two of us stick out like two sore thumbs. Sore and tattooed thumbs, at that. J's got almost as much ink as I do, even if he ended up growing up here rather than Lenox Hill.

More trouble than you even know, man, I want to say. But I don't. Jamison and I tell each other pretty much everything, but I'm not telling him about this. It's like I don't want to tell anyone about Emile. For one, because I sure as hell don't want him to catch any shit for what happened. But for two, because I like him being all mine.

"Nah," I shrug. "But the day is young."

Jamison rolls his eyes. "Make any friends?"

"Oh, tons. I'm in real tight with all the other tattooed outcast types who like motorcycles."

I give Jamison a flat look.

"Oh, that's right, everyone else who goes to this fucking place is a preppy, snobby, douche."

My brother rolls his eyes again and shakes his head. "Just chill and try to keep an open mind."

I arch my brow. "What are you, Mr. Popular around here? You gonna be Homecoming King?"

"Har har," Jamison flips me off before slinging an arm over my shoulder. "Which way are you headed?"

I nod with my chin down the hall and he shrugs. "Cool, I'll walk you."

I laugh. "Are you worried that I'm going to take off or do something crazy?"

"Yup."

I grin. "Whatever, man. Look, I'm here, right?"

"Yeah, but Ethan, you've gotta really be here. Look, I get it, man," he growls. "I get that this place is the epitome of rich, shitty douchebaggery, but it's also a fucking golden ticket."

I roll my eyes this time. "You sound like dad."

"Yeah? Good. Dad's a smart fucking guy. Ethan, you're not a dumb-ass, and this place can open any door you fucking want for college."

I just shrug. Believe me, whatever Jamison has to say on the subject, I've heard it before from our dad.

"Hey, how about you?"

"What about me?"

"I mean how is it being back here?"

He shrugs. "It's fine, man."

Unlike me, Jamison has actually been to Winchester before. A year after I went to Lenox Hill, he started as a freshman here, and got about a month into sophomore year before our mom took off and dad moved the family back to South Carolina. Well, the family minus me. When he and Celia Weiss decided to make it official and get engaged, he and Jamison moved back up here at the beginning of the school year so J could start his senior year. Lenox Hill has a strict policy on cutting out early on a contract, so it took dad two months of bullshit and donations to get me out and into Winchester. Here we finally are. The Scott brothers, dirtying the clean, moneyed halls of Winchester.

We round a corner, and suddenly, we stop short before we almost plow right into a familiar face.

"Hey, Ethan!"

Ramona Weiss, Celia's daughter and our soon-to-be-stepsister, smiles warmly at me, pushing her dark brown hair out of her eyes. Ramona is basically the opposite of me, but I like her so far. She's firmly in the "popular" crowd, but she's not a bitch, as far as I can tell. She's also smart as hell and is really kind of a kiss-ass with teachers, but whatever. She's probably the most likely person I know to grow up to be a corporate lawyer or a Senator or something.

"Hey Moan-er," Jamison drawls out with a sarcastic smile. Ramona's eyes darken, her lips pursing as she turns to my brother and gives him a sneer.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously what?"

"Moaner? Honestly?"

Jamison grins as he spreads his hands wide. "Hey, a nickname is a nickname. I just don't want to tread on tradition."

"You called me that when we were fucking twelve."

"And?"

"And grow up, cretin," she hisses, scowling at him before she turns back to me and smiles. "How's your first day, Ethan?"

"Great."

"Good!" She shrugs. "Hey, if you're curious about any of the clubs or teams, just let me know and I can introduce—"

"I'm… good," I say with a light smile. "Clubs and teams aren't really my thing." They totally are for Ramona though. I mean she's literally wearing her cheer outfit for some sort of rally after school. She's also in the school band, and on the debate team.

"Oh, well, if you change your mind, I mean, the Raiders would probably kill to get you at a single practice."

I make a face. "The football team?"

Jamison snorts next to me, but I just shrug at Ramona.

"Yeah, not exactly my scene. I don't think I speak enough jock to fit in."

Romana giggles. "Well, they're really not all jock-type assholes, Really. I think you and Beckett, the new quarterback, would really get along actually."

"Hey, what about me, Moaner?" Jamison grins, butting in and nodding his chin at her.

"What about you, ass?" She spits back.

"I dunno, I was thinking about going out for the cheer squad, think you guys have a spot for me?"

I hide my grin in my palm as Ramona shoots Jamison a withering look.

"Not in a million years. Besides, I don't think you and your ego could fit into the uniform."

He chuckles, nodding at her outfit. "Oh, I think I could fit into that skirt no problem."

The three of us go dead silent as the joke falls way flat, and hits in a pretty awkward way instead. You know, because she's about to be our stepsister. Jamison frowns, quickly moving on as Ramona's face goes bright red.

"Alright, we gotta go. Try not to blow any jocks on the way to class, Moaner."

"Try not to… I mean, don't—"

"Awesome comeback, Moaner," Jamison laughs, patting her patronizingly on the shoulder as he drags me past her.

"See you later, Ramona," I say with a sympathetic smile as Jamison pulls me away. Ramona just glares at him with daggers in her eyes before she twirls with a huff and marches away, holding her books to her chest.

"Wow, so, that was mature."

Jamison frowns, giving me a look.

"Oh, what."

"The fuck was that, man? She's actually pretty nice."

My brother rolls his eyes. "She's a little brat is what she is. Trust me, you didn't grow up going to school with her."

I shrug. "Yeah, well, maybe try being less of a dick to her. She's gonna be family, man."

"Step family."

I pause, one brow cocking as I turn to him. And slowly, I start to grin. Jamison stops, glancing back at me and frowning.

"What?"

"Dude you're totally into her."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Fuck off, weirdo. She's our sister. Fucking gross."

"Well, stepsister, as you were so quick to point out, Mr. Splitting Hairs."

He just glares at me.

"Ethan, you're reading this way wrong. She's just fun to fuck with."

I just arch my brow higher, and he rolls his eyes and looks away.

"Don't be weird, dude. Besides, we're gonna talk about that shit on your neck?"

"What shit on my neck?"

"Those hickeys, man. You causing trouble already?" he grins.

Shit.

I can't tell Jamison about Emile, even if we share everything. I just can't. I could get in trouble if what happened got out, but he'd be fucked. I groan inside, my thoughts wandering back to him.

The fuck is going on with me? Yes, there's this forbidden allure of him being someone I should stay the fuck away from. But it's more than that. It's that I really, really want him. It's that he ignites something in me. It's that I crave him. He's not like the guys I've known before. I know how cliche that sounds, in this stupid teen romance way, but it's true.

"Alright, this is me," I mutter, glancing into Professor Truman's math class. The professor himself is in there, standing leaning over his desk going over some homework or something with a cute looking redhead in a cheer outfit. I watch as she puts her hand on his arm as she leans down, the touch familiar and almost intimate. And Professor math teacher doesn't do shit to move it or move away.

…I think there may be more dirty little secrets at Winchester than me and Emile.

"Alright, stay out of trouble, man. See you after school."

"Later," I mutter, clapping Jamison on the back as I turn to head into class.

I've got a problem. A big one. I've tasted the forbidden fruit. I've tasted Emile Hayes. And now I just want more, come what may, and consequences be damned.


	6. 6

**CHAPTER 6**

Ethan

Two. Fucking. Days. He manages to avoid me for two damn days.

I'm almost impressed.

I don't even have his class on Tuesday so it makes sense that I don't see him. But on Wednesday morning, he even goes so far as to have one of the various teaching aides getting credit at a nearby college for working for free at Winchester to come in and run the lesson for him. Oh, the word is he's got a cold, but I call major bullshit on that one. I know it's all just him avoiding me.

But on the third day, when classes are over for the day, I spot him out in the parking lot. I'm packing my school shit into my saddlebag when I happen to glance over into the faculty lot next door and see my new favorite dark-haired teacher getting into a vintage Jeep Grande Wagoner—the old kind with the wood paneling and all that.

I grin when he starts the engine, swinging my leg over my bike and starting it as well. I keep my eyes on Emile as he drives off, and I pull out of the lot after him.

…Yep, I'm following him. And I don't give a shit if I am.

But Emile doesn't get far. In fact, he doesn't even leave campus. I frown in confusion as he pulls into a side lot near the edge of campus, the engine turning off before he gets out and walks up to one of the small stone cottages that sit to this side of campus. I pull in after him and shut off my bike, my eyes catching the "parking for faculty housing only" sign.

I hop off the bike and jog over to where he's trying to find the right key on his keychain, standing at the old wooden door of the Tudor-style cottage.

"Wait, you live on campus?"

He whirls, gasping, as his eyes focus on me.

"Did you just follow me?"

"Yes."

He swallows.

"You shouldn't do that, Ethan."

I shrug. "I had some homework questions and didn't see you at office hours."

He arches his brow, a thin, amused smile on his pouty lips.

"I'm sure," he drawls sarcastically.

I grin. "You know, this is kind of funny, actually."

"What is."

"That you live on campus and I don't. Seems like it should be the reverse."

He frowns. "You don't live on campus?"

"No, I live in—" I make an ultra-serious face. "Weiss Manor," I drawl in my best English butler voice.

Emile pales. "Celia Weiss is your mother?"

I frown, shaking my head. "Stepmother. Well, soon to be. She and my dad are getting married this year. That's sort of what brings us back to Southworth."

He swallows, face still white.

"She's kind of a big deal in this town," Emile says quietly. "I mean Christ, she sits on the school board, Ethan."

"How do you think a guy like me gets into a place like this?"

I grin, but he just holds my gaze, his mouth thin.

"What?"

"Do you always do that?"

I frown. "Do what."

"Play the hopeless and uneducated outlaw card?"

"Huh?"

"I'm just saying, I'm not a psychologist, but I don't have to be. You hide behind this broken bad boy image, but you're a lot more than that."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, sure."

Emile scowls at me. "You're not an idiot."

"Aww, thanks," I grin, sarcasm dripping from my lips.

"Stop it, you know what I mean. I've—" He pauses, exhaling loudly and diverting his eyes.

"What?"

"I've seen your transcript," he says flatly, looking up at me. "You have a flawless record."

I smile thinly. "Aside from juvenile prison, sure." I meet his gaze. "You looked at my transcript?"

"Yes."

"Why."

He doesn't answer, and I step towards her.

"Why, Emile?"

"To prove what I already knew," he hisses indignantly. "That you're smart. And very talented, by the way."

This time it's my turn not to answer as our eyes meet.

"I saw the portfolio pieces you did at Lenox Hill. I'm not sure I know that school."

"Well, that's because it's the kind of school where they come get you in the middle of the night, drag you away, and keep you locked up while they try and scare you straight."

His face falls, brow caving.

"I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Don't be, and I know you didn't."

I take a step closer to him, loving the way his breath catches when I do.

"Why are you really here, Ethan," he whispers.

"You know why I'm here," I purr back.

Emile glances around, swallowing.

"That is not happening," he whispers fiercely.

"Says who."

"Me, right now."

I take another step right into him.

"Ethan, stop. People might—"

My hand takes his, pulling him into me as I step forward, and he groans as he falls against my chest.

"You need to go away," he whispers.

"What I need is you, Emile," I growl.

"This can't happen." He shakes his head. "This can never happen again. You're a student for fucks sake!"

"I'm eighteen, and I was eighteen that night," I hiss back.

He swallows.

"You know, when you made a man out of me for the first time that night."

His eyes go wide, the shock so real on his face that I can't even try to keep the joke going. I laugh.

"I'm kidding. That wasn't my first time."

"That's not even funny."

"I wish it had been, though," I growl. "That's for sure. My first time I mean. Don't know what the hell I was doing before, but it wasn't anything like what we had the other night, Emile," I growl.

The color is back in his face, still glancing around.

"We're not talking about this."

"Still on that, huh?"

"What?"

"Pretending this isn't happening again."

"It's not."

"It just did, two days ago in your classroom."

His breath hitches.

"That was a mistake."

"Was it now?"

"Yes."

I growl lowly as I press into him, his back to the door of his cottage and his hands on my chest. His big dark eyes look up at me, his soft pink lips parting in a silent gasp..

"Emile," I growl, leaning down, our lips inches apart before suddenly, he snaps. He's suddenly shoving me back hard. I scowl, but he shakes his head, jaw clenched.

"Damnit, no, Ethan!" He spits, anger rising in his voice as my eyes narrow. "This is wrong, and what happened was fucked. You're a kid, for Christ's sake!"

"Do you seriously think I'm a fucking innocent little child?" I snap back.

"We are not doing this, Ethan! Not now, not ever again! What happened was the worst mistake of my

life, alright?!"

My mouth goes tight, just as I see his face fall.

"Fuck, Ethan, I'm—that's not what I—"

"Nah, don't worry about it," I spit back venomously, my jaw grinding. "You're right, Mr. Hayes. I think we're fucking done here."

I turn, my pulse thundering as I storm back to my bike, swinging my leg over, revving the throttle, and roaring out of the parking lot as the dark clouds start to build over the horizon.


	7. 7

**CHAPTER 7**

Emile

Rain slams down in sheets across the road as I drive through the back roads of Southworth. The downpour thunders down on the roof of my old Grande Wagoneer, deafening me as I scan the road ahead.

What am I doing?

I tell myself I'm worried about him on a motorcycle, out in this weather and obviously angry. But it's more than that. Me looking for him isn't altruism. Well, not just altruism.

…It's hunger.

It's a need I can't get rid of. A desire that just won't go away, no matter how much I tell it. It's a heat that draws me, and only burns fiercer the more I tell him to get away from me. And I lasted all of nine minutes after telling him to go away before I ran out into the sudden downpour of rain to go find him.

I know this is wrong. I know the stakes are too high, the consequences too real, and the fallout too huge for me to have anything to do with Ethan Scott. He's too young. He's my student. His stepmother is a billionaire businesswoman and on the fucking school board, for fuck's sake. But even with all of that—even with all of those blinking, neon warning signs, I still can't say no. Not for longer than nine minutes, anyways, apparently.

The thunderclouds have been building all day, but it was the minute he drove off that they started to break apart. And now, it's raining like it's the end of the fucking world.

I pull around a bend, and it's then that I spot his motorcycle, parked under the train-track overpass. I drive down under, the rain hammering the top of my car suddenly going silent as I pull under shelter. But when I glance around, I don't see Ethan. Just the bike.

Shit.

I drive out the other side, the rain pounding back down in sheets and my eyes scanning the road as I slow to a crawl. And then, suddenly, I spot him. He's walking on the shoulder of the road, his jeans and white t-shirt clinging to him like a second skin, his hands jammed into his pockets. He's soaked, but damn is he hot.

My cock twitches at the thought, knowing full-well how thirsty it makes me sound, but I just don't care. Ethan Scott is pure, dripping wet sex walking down the side of the road in a see-through wet white t-shirt, his muscles clenching and his tattoo ink rippling. I pull the car up next to him, and he stops for a second as he realizes who I am. I swallow, my eyes dancing over the way the soaked shirt clings to every groove of his abs, before I tear my eyes up to his face. He furrows his brow, his jaw clenching before he turns and keeps walking.

I sigh, driving slowly and reaching across the seat to wind down the manual window.

"Get in!" I yell.

Ethan turns and eyes me.

"Thought we weren't doing this, Emile," he growls.

"Get in the fucking car, Ethan."

"Why."

I stare at him.

"Because it's pouring out!"

"And?"

I swallow, pressing my lips together and breaking as he stops walking.

"Because I want you to," I say firmly.

His look hardens, and I wet my lips with my tongue.

"Get in."

Water pours down his face and over his chiseled body as his piercing blue eyes drill into me. But then slowly, he nods.

"Great," I sigh as he opens the door and slides in, slamming it shut behind him and rolling up the window. My heart races in the near-silence of the car—quiet but for the thundering of the rain and the low sounds of the Grateful Dead tape playing on my old speakers. The rain drums down endlessly, and the air is thick with tension. And heat. And need.

This is so fucked up and wrong. But yet, here I am.

"Where too?" he finally drawls.

"I'm taking you home."

He grins as he glances over at me "Your place or mine?"

I'm swallowing thickly as I let his eyes capture mine.

"Your house."

I throw the car into drive and push on the gas, pulling us off the shoulder of the road as we drive off.

"How scandalous."

"No," I reply, "not like that."

"You sure about that?"

His hand moves to my leg, and I swallow, panting as my eyes drop to look at it before looking back to the road. But I don't push it away. His hand starts to move, and I gasp quietly as I feel him slide it up my thigh, groping my thigh. He slides it higher and higher, my pulse racing faster and faster before suddenly, I drop my hand to his. I pull his touch away from me and onto his own leg, firmly. But then, my hand lingers there, atop his on his leg. And I don't move it.

We drive in silence in the rain, but my heart is racing. And slowly, I let my hand move how it wants. It slides over his fingers, and then slips higher, over his soaked jeans. I can feel his thigh muscle tighten under my touch, but I just keep going. I'm panting as my fingers trace higher and higher, until I know there's no mistaking what I'm doing or where I'm going with this. My fingers trace over the thick, hard bulge in his jeans, and I groan quietly.

Fuck, he's so fucking hard. Obscenely hard. And suddenly, it's like the last of my defenses shatter like glass.

I'm not ignoring this or saying no to this anymore.

I slam on the breaks as I yank the wheel, Ethan swearing as the car careens off the road into the gravely parking lot of the old gas station. The place is on its last legs in Southworth, being so far away from any main road and basically out in the woods, and it's only open a couple days a week.

Tonight is not one of those open nights.

The tires kick up gravel as I swerve the Wagoneer across the empty, weed-filled gravel lot. The lights are off but for the one neon orange and yellow sign up on the roof above the pumps, and when I slam the car into park and shut off the engine, we're bathed in the sultry glow of it and nothing else.

The car goes silent but for the pounding of the rain, and we stare out into the darkness of the trees that surround the ancient gas station. My heart hammers in my ears.

"What are you doing, Emile," Ethan asks quietly.

I take a shaky breath, steel my nerves, and feel the pounding of my heart against my chest.

"This."

Before I can overthink it, or worry about the consequences, or judge myself any more, I turn, grab his face, and crush my mouth to his, hard. Ethan moans, the fierceness and intensity of it making me groan into his lips as his hands grab me. I moan, yanking my seat belt off and sliding over the center console into his lap. Lightning flashes, and I breathe into his lips as the thunder follows close, booming like the end of days as the rain crashes down.

My pulse races, and my moans mix with his along with our tongues as I grind against him. His hands slide over me, grabbing my ass tight and pulling me against him. He's soaking wet, which is making me soaking wet, and it only takes a minute for my clothes to be as drenched as his. Thunder crashes again, so fucking loud and so close, like the storm is right fucking over us. But all it does is fuel us on, like war drums.

Our lips sear together, hands grabbing at each other aggressively as we start to yank each other's clothes off. His shirt is off, and my button-up half-rips open in his hands as he yanks it apart. My chest presses to his, bare skin to bare skin, my nipples dragging over his. He groans, his mouth dropping down my neck, and my collarbone, making me moan in pleasure as his hands start to take off my pants.

Ethan's mouth drops lower, kissing and sucking down my muscled chest, until his lips wrap around one hard, pink nipple, making me cry out in pleasure.

My hands drop to his lap, ripping his belt open and his zipper down. He grunts into my lips as we help each other shove our soaked jeans and boxers down. Our cocks are free. His springs up, slapping against mine. He groans, looking up into my eyes as his hands grip my hips and pull me tight to him. I moan, feeling my dripping throbbing cock rub deliciously against his. I glance down, moaning as I watch glistening precum drip from his swollen head and mix with mine.

Thunder crashes, making me jump as white lightning and orange neon illuminate the car. Our lips come together again. He takes over, stroking me. He's working his fist up and down as I moan into his mouth.

"You're so beautiful," he groans into my lips. He lets go of me and gathers our precum and uses it to rub circles around my hole. I grab my cock and start stroking it to the rhythm he's set. "I want to feel that pretty little ass again."

His slicked thick fingers enter me slowly and I cry out in ecstasy. He goes into the hilt in one long, low stroke, making my head spin and my skin tingle as the pleasure ripples through me. His one hand squeezes and knees my ass, holding me in place while the other is slowly stretching me. He lets me adjust to the second finger and then a third when he starts thrusting up to meet me as I push down. He buries those long fingers inside of me over and over again.

My hands slide into his hair, and when I start to rock my hips faster up and down, he groans and leans his face on my chest. My mouth falls open, my eyes closed crying out when he finds my prostate, feeling his tongue on my nipples and his hands on my ass.

"Just like that, Emile," he groans, kissing his way up to my ear.

"Fuck yourself on my fingers. Ride them like it's my cock, like it's yours."

I cry out, pure pleasure rippling through me, my walls clenching tight around his fingers as I ride faster, and harder. Up and down, I move as the thunder detonates around us and the neon sign bathes us in orange glow. The windows steam up, and the car grows thick with heat and moisture. Bodies rub together, sweat slicking us together as he grunts into my skin, hands grabbing me as he fucks me.

And it is so good. So wrong, so fucked up, but so fucking good. He's back to stroking my cock, we kiss, all while I grab him all over, as the storm rages, rain pelting down, as he's driving me towards the edge. The edge comes rushing forward and I want to fall. I crush my lips to his and moan into his mouth, clutching him so tight as I grind myself deep down on him ready to explode.

The orgasm is so close. I'm panting for air, trembling from the strain of the position, moaning in pleasure, when Ethan removes his glorious fingers. I gasp at the suddenness of it all. I almost complain that he's cut off my orgasm but he cuts me off by flipping me over onto the seat. He moves between my legs. I do laugh as he grabs the lever to dip the seat back. Ethan drops to his knees on the floor in front of the passenger side seat we're in, and then spreads my legs wide and over his shoulder, I moan as I watch him move in.

"Fuck do you have a sexy little ass, beautiful," he groans. And before I can even catch my breath, he's moved in, and his tongue is dragging slow and wet, over every bit of me.

I gasp, hips bucking against his wicked mouth as he drags his tongue flatly all over my hole. I groan in pleasure, bucking my hips wantonly against him as he does it over and over again, until I'm clawing at the seat and his hair. He teases higher, sucking my aching balls into his mouth. And when his teasing tongue swirls deftly around the tip of my cock, I start to come apart again.

Ethan groans into me, sucking my cock, and teasing it with his tongue over and over again as my breath catches. My body arches, pleasure flashing through me like the lightning outside. And when I finally come against his tongue, it's his name I'm screaming over the sound of the thunder as I melt against his mouth.

"Get up here," I moan, yanking him up between my legs. His eyes flash with intense blue heat as his muscled hips spread my thighs. I watch him swallow my cum and shiver. He lines his cock up and pushes right in, his size easily slipping inside with how much he's prepped me. I moan, grabbing him and yanking him down to me as he drives every inch inside of me. Our lips crash together, and I groan as I taste my own release off his tongue as he starts to make me his.

I cry out in pleasure as Ethan starts to fuck the hell out of me. It's like nothing I've ever felt, my body coming apart at the seams as I claw at him and writhe in pure heavenly bliss under him. My bare feet press to the windshield, slick with the wet heat of the car as his fat cock slams into my wet pulsing hole.

He pounds into me, our tongues swirling and our bodies writhing together. Thunder explodes around us, like we're in the storm cloud, and the orangey neon glow is punctured by bright white flashes of lightning as the rain slams against the car. We pant into each other's lips, hands gripping sweat-slicked skin and rippling muscles, and his gorgeous, thick cock thrusting into me again and again and again, until suddenly, like the storm, we both explode together.

"Emile," he groans into my lips.

"Ethan!" I cry out as he slams inside me to the hilt, and suddenly, we're both gone. I cry out, clawing at his back and clutching him so tightly as the climax detonates through me like a bomb. My body writhes against his, my legs wrapping tight around his hips and pulling him into me as he roars, pushes deep, and explodes.

My cum spraying between us. His blasting deep inside of me, pumping me full. We're both twitching. He goes to move, but I keep him right there, legs tight around his waist, my hands clutching his face as I kiss him, slow and deep, with everything I have. And we stay just like that, the storm raging around us, but the both of us safe, together, and perfect.


	8. 8

**CHAPTER 8**

Ethan

I don't know how long we stay like that, but if it were for forever, I'd be pretty fucking okay with that. I just stay right there, between his legs, my cock still deep inside of him as I kiss him slowly.

Eventually, we're both aware of the rain fading, and the thunder tumbling away. I pull back, our eyes locking as he grins under me. His skin is still glowing orange from the neon sign of the gas station, and I just fucking stare at him.

Damn he's beautiful, and I could stare at him all damn day. And night. And forever.

He leans up and kisses me, and slowly, I slide out of him. He moans quietly, sitting up on the seat but leaning forward onto me.

"You should go home," he murmurs into the skin of my chest as he kisses it. "I should take you home."

I glance at him as he looks up into my eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Etha—"

"I'm not, Emile," I growl. "I'm not done with you by a fucking mile."

I lean in, kissing him slow and deep as he moans into my lips.

"Okay, you have to go home, though. You're a student, Ethan. You're eighteen. Your parents will—"

"My dad knows I can take care of myself. They'll be fine, trust me."

His brow furrows, but I just grin as I reach for my jeans and pull out my miraculously still-working phone.

"Here, hang on."

I hammer out a quick text and hit send as his eyes dart over my face.

"What was that?"

"My brother, Jamison," I shrug. "I told him I was going to be out late if anyone asks."

"What did you say you were doing?"

I grin.

"Sleeping with my art teacher in the front seat of his Grande Wagoneer."

His eyes go wide for half a second before I laugh.

"I'm kidding, beautiful," I chuckle as he makes a face and punches my chest. He presses his lips as his eyes lock with mine.

"You're infuriating, you know."

"I try."

"No, I actually don't think you do."

I hoot out a laugh as he grins at me.

"Maybe I'm like a questionable tattoo," I wink at him. "I just get in deep under your skin and stay there."

Emile actually blushes, and I can suddenly feel my cock stirring as I pull him tighter to me.

"What do you say, Mr. Hayes," I purr, my lips inches from his. "You want me to slide in deep and stay there?"

He moans when I grab him and pull him into a kiss. I pull at his dark hair and he shivers in heat and kisses me fiercely.

"Your house," I growl. "Now."

He nods and pops open the glove compartment. We clean up as best we can with napkins he has stored there. We both yank on our soaking wet clothes, skipping our boxers as we used them to clean up as well. He gets into the driver's seat and I get situated. He cranks the engine on and throws the car into gear.

Emile's barely out of the parking lot before my hand is on his leg.

"Ethan…"

He shoots a look my way before glancing at the road, but I just keep going. I slide my hand higher, pushing right up against his fly. I rub it and it twitches against the pant fabric.

"Fuck, Ethan—"

"Eyes on the road, Mr. Hayes," I purr as he moans softly. My fingers stroke the growing bulge as he clenches the wheel tightly and gasps. I grasp him firmly, rubbing my palms against him, sliding closer to him and leaning over. My breath teases over his ear, making him groan, and when I let my lips and tongue brush his neck, he trembles, the car wobbling slightly.

I tease, but that's all I do, keeping him moaning and on the fucking edge the whole way back. We actually barely make it back at all with the number of times he swerves on the mercifully mostly empty streets before we pull through the big iron gates of the campus. Emile swings the car into the faculty lot by his cottage and shuts off the engine, and I give him one last teasing stroke of my hand before I move away.

He's breathing hard and then glances nervously around. It's still raining, but not that hard. And it's dark too, so no one's going to see us. But still.

"Okay," he growls, turning to me. "In two minutes, come in the back door."

I grin wolfishly.

"Now that, Mr. Hayes," I drawl, wagging my brows, "is my favorite way to come."

"You know what I meant."

He rolls his eyes at my lame joke, smirking as he leans over and kisses me quickly. He opens the door and goes calmly into the rain towards his door, and I damn well watch him the whole time, my hunger for him only rising.

I last maybe a minute—maybe—before I jump out and run to the back of the cottage. I don't knock, I just waltz in, and Emile startles as he looks up quickly yanking the towel around his waist.

Naked and wet. I growl. This is exactly how I want him, always.

His face goes crimson as he sees the hungry look in my eyes.

"That was not two minutes."

"Nope, it wasn't."

I shed my clothes in seconds as I storm towards him, and he gasps as I tear the towel out of his hands and pull him into me. Our lips crush together, and we both moan as my hands grab his tight ass and pull him into me. His arms wrap tightly around me and I can feel him erect and hard right against my own throbbing cock as I just keep walking him back, until his back slams against the wall.

He kisses me with fury and an unrelenting hunger, and I groan as I feel his hand snake down between us and wrap around my cock. He strokes me against his hard flat stomach, precum dripping all his own cock. He shifts to a wide stance and lifts one leg to wrap around my hip. One hand holding onto my neck and he uses the other to guide my cock to his hole and sinks the head inside of himself. I grunt, pushing in, and in, and in, his cries of pleasure are magnificent to my ears, until I'm balls-deep in that hot little hole again. We pant into each other's mouths as I pull back, leaving just my swollen head inside before I drive back to the hilt.

"Fuck me, Ethan," he gasps, grabbing my shoulders hard for balance, his leg tightening around my hip. I grab his ass as I drive into him, pressing him harder against the wall. Our kiss turns feral and aggressive, his nipping at my bottom lip until I hiss and my mouth dropping down to leave vicious hickeys on his neck. I know marks are a bad idea, but I simply don't fucking care. Maybe the rest of the world won't know it's his student claiming him like this, but they'll damn well know someone is. I want any fucking body who looks at him to know he belongs to someone. I want anyone who sees the marks from my lips on his skin to know to keep their fucking distance.

Because he's mine.

I groan into his neck, rutting into him like a fucking animal, nailing him to the wall as he moans and cries out in pleasure as I hammer into his sweet spot. I feel his balls rising, about to come, his cock is slick, cum coating our stomachs and dripping down to our balls, but I just keep going. I drag my mouth to his, bruising my lips to his as he grabs the back of my neck with one hand and kisses me furiously right back.

We move faster and harder, my cock thrusting deep into him over and over again. My muscles burn, my cock swells, and the intense fire that sparks in me even when I just think about him burns like fire in my veins. I kiss him with every single thing I have as I bury my aching cock as deep as I can, and when he tightens his leg around me, heel pushing into my ass, and squeezes my cock with that velvety-soft, tight little hole, I lose it.

I roar into his mouth as I grunt, blasting rope after rope of my sticky cum deep inside him. I feel him come between us, his walls clamping down and rippling up and down my spasming cock as he spurts his seed over our stomachs and chest. We groan into each other's mouths, panting as we pull away.

Wordlessly, still kissing him, I let his leg come down from around me to the floor. I grab his waist, pulling him towards the stairs.

I'm not even close to being done with him

…I'll never be done with him.


	9. 9

**CHAPTER 9**

Emile

Okay, I'm being a bit of a creep.

And I'm completely fine with it.

I sink into the pillows on my bed, watching intently as a very naked, very still wet from the shower we just took Ethan stoops to light a fire in the fireplace I've never used. His muscled back ripples, tattoo ink flexing as he leans down low to blow at the flames.

…Yeah, I could definitely get used to this view.

Naked, gorgeous, inappropriate, tempting, and wrong. And yet, impossible to resist. I bite my tongue, pressing a hand on my cock, willing it to stay down, as my eyes drag over him. Ethan stuffs another few smaller twigs into the flames, blowing again until they start to catch the bigger logs, before he stands and stretches. He turns, and when he catches me red-handed totally checking him out, he grins.

My gaze drags over his sculpted, chiseled body, up to his eyes, and I hold it there.

"I want to draw you."

"Oh?"

I nod. "Yes, I do."

"Tasteful, artistic nude?"

He strikes a sudden and dramatic pose, half turning to flash me his bare ass, and I laugh.

"Or maybe something more erotic and smutty?"

He turns back, and I swallow thickly as he strikes a different pose, this time holding his half hard cock in a tight fist, his abs flexing. He starts to stroke slowly, his big cock swelling and lengthening as my pulse quickens and my cock fills with blood.

"Jeez, eyes up here, Emile."

I laugh again, rolling my eyes and tossing a pillow at him which he catches.

"Come on, sit," I nod at the plush lounge chair against one wall of my bedroom. "I promise it'll be painless."

"Yes, sir."

"And shit, sir coming out of your mouth is not a good thing."

He chuckles as he slumps down into the soft, low chair, his hands behind his head and his muscles rolling as he spreads his legs. His heavy cock sits thick and bulging against one thigh, and I feel my pulse quicken again as I slide off the bed. I grab my sketchpad and some pencils from my dresser, slipping some boxers on before I duck into the hallway and grab another chair. I drag it back into the bedroom and over to him. I sit and open the pad.

"Okay, just sit still, okay?"

Ethan winks, grinning.

"Draw me like one of your French girls, Jack."

I roll my eyes. "Were you even alive when Titanic came out?"

He arches a brow and grins, and I cringe as I shake my head.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, you weren't. Forget I asked."

He laughs as I groan and flip to a fresh page. My eyes slide up and over him, taking in the lines and contours as I bring the pencil to the page. And slowly, I do what's always been my favorite thing to do in the world: draw. Well, my favorite thing to do in the world, that is, before I discovered sex with Ethan Scott.

I go slow, and I capture all of it. Every line, every detail. He's gorgeous, and scarred, and broken, and perfect. A rebel without a cause. And mine. I know how possessive it sounds, and I don't care.

He's mine.

I repeat it in my head as I draw, my eyes flicking between him and the page, and then back again. I sketch, I smudge, I shade and I redraw, taking every single bit of him from real life to sketch pad. At some point, my cock gets a mind of its own, hardening and poking through the slit in my boxers, but I don't care. I just keep drawing. Except, slowly, I realize Ethan's eyes are dragging over me, and his cock is swelling harder. It bulges, throbbing as it lifts from his thigh to pulse against his abs, and I get even harder.

"You're making it hard to draw, you know."

"That' because you're making it hard," he growls, making me shiver in heat.

"Want me to put more clothes on?"

"Not a fucking chance."

I look up, and when my eyes meet his, I know one thing for sure: drawing time is over.

I toss the pad and pencils on the bed and stand, my eyes never leaving his hungry, fierce gaze as I move towards him. I drop my boxers as I step closer, until I gasp as his hands reach out to grab my ass. He growls, yanking me towards him, and when his mouth presses to my eager cock, I whimper as his wicked tongue slides out to taste me.

I pant, my fingers sliding into his hair and my head dropping back. His tongue slid up and down the shaft, teasing me and making me moan as my legs shake. He groans into me, his fingers tight on my ass and his tongue sliding up to swirl around the head. He sucks the tip into his lips, teasing me mercilessly as I buck against his mouth. I tremble, panting, my fingers tightening in his hair before finally, I manage to drag myself apart from him. My eyes drop to his own swollen, rock-hard cock, and I moan as I wet my lips.

"My turn," I grunt deeply, sinking to my knees in front of him. I look up at him—this muscled, tattooed, gorgeous man, and I moan. Because that's who he is, at this moment. He's not a student. He's not some ticking time bomb on my career. He's just Ethan Scott, and he's all man. He's all my man, at that.

My hand reaches out, my fingers curling around as much of his thickness as I can as I lean in. My eyes never leave his blazing blue ones as I lean in, open my wet, pouty lips, and sink them down over his swollen crown. Ethan groans, his cock pulsing in my mouth as my lips stretch obscenely around his girth. My tongue teases over his underside and swirls around his crown, and I groan as I taste the sweetness of his precum.

I slide my mouth lower, moaning and keeping my eyes locked on his as I take as much of him as I can into my mouth. Which I'm proud to say is most of it, although he is very big and I suck him all the harder for it. I moan even more, slurping wetly at him and bobbing my lips up and down his fat cock as he growls, his muscles clenching. His hand slides into my hair, wrapping it in a fist, and I grunt eagerly. I lap at his cock, feeling drunk on it as I drool and suck all over it, until he's hard as steel in my hand and glistening wet.

I move to swallow him back into my mouth, but Ethan groans, shaking his head as he pulls me up instead.

"Uh-uh, c'mere, beautiful," he growls hungrily. He spins me around and pulls me into his lap, and I grunt as I tumble into him.

My legs spread to either side of him, my heels moving onto the edge of the chair beside his thighs. He fists his cock, his lips nibbling at the back of my neck as he eases the fat crown against my already stretched and quivering opening and nudges it inside. I hiss in pleasure and pain, turning to kiss him fiercely as I slowly begin to sink down on his cock.

Ethan groans, his big hands sliding all over me—one gripping my hip to guide me down, the other sliding around to stroke my cock.

"Fuck, your ass feels so fucking good, Emile," he groans, kissing me deeply as I sink down inch after inch of his glorious cock.

"Yeah?" I purr, panting as I slide up and then back down. This raw sort of sexual power blazes through me as I start to ride his huge cock, feeling his powerful, muscled arms wrapped around me.

"Better than any of those teasing high schoolers you've had before?"

I hiss, rocking down on him and loving the way he groans as his cock swells inside of me.

"What others," he grunts, nipping at my neck as he thrusts up into me, stroking down my cock at the same time, matching the rhythm.

"Oh please, don't pull that 'it was my first time' bullshit again," I groan, panting and moaning as we start to rock faster.

"No, beautiful," he growls, his muscles flexing as he sinks into me. "I mean before you? I don't even fucking remember a before you."

"Smooth," I gasp, biting my lip and moaning as I grind down onto his cock.

"It's not a line, Emile," he purrs into my ear, his hand pumping me faster as I cry out.

"No bullshit. No lines. No trying to be smooth. Not with you," he groans. "Emile, the ones before—"

"Ethan, it's fine, I was only kidd—"

"Whatever came before you was a shitty, shitty imitation of you," he growls fiercely. "Whatever came before, I was just waiting for you. And now that I got you…"

I moan as his lips crush to mine, our bodies rocking harder together as the firelight flickers over us.

"Now that I got you, fucking nothing is going to take me away from you."

I sink into him, lost in him as our lips come together and our bodies move like one. I slide up and down his swollen cock, my hands on his as he strokes my cock and pinches my nipples. I can feel his pulse against my back, his muscles rippling as he lifts me up and down, thrusting his cock into me over and over again as I start to tumble towards the edge of my release.

"Fuck me, Ethan," I moan, writhing on him and gasping a he plunges into me again and again. It feels like he's touching me everywhere, enveloping me in him and in his warmth, and as I open my lips to rub my tongue against his, I let go completely.

"Fuck me, and never stop fucking— yes, yes…"

He grunts, pulling me down onto him and sliding so fucking deep inside as his fist pumps my cock. And suddenly, I shatter for him. I scream into his mouth, my whole-body rippling and shuddering and clenching tight as I come over and over again, until my cum is splashed all over my chest and stomach, dripping down my balls onto his thighs. Ethan roars into my lips, his fat cock swelling up so fucking big inside until I feel the first powerful pulse of his cum spurting into me. I groan as he just keeps coming, that gorgeous cock throbbing and twitching deep in my ass as he pumps rope after rope of his hot cum deep into me.

His arms circle me, his hands never leaving my skin, his lips never leaving mine, and his pulse beating in time with mine.


	10. 10

**CHAPTER 10**

Ethan

Okay, I'll say this about Winchester. Even if it's full of rich snobby douchebags, it's got one thing going for it: the food they serve at lunch is fucking amazing. I mean, it costs more per year to go here than most people make in a year, so, I guess it fucking better be good, right?

Well, it is. A professional kitchen that most Michelin-rated New York City restaurants would kill for, and a chef that literally has a Michelin star. That's all to say that the cheeseburger I'm currently eating for lunch is fucking incredible. That is, until I start to overhear the jock douchebags at the table behind where I'm sitting alone.

I glance over my shoulder, brow furrowing as I scope out the guys from the football team. I roll my eyes and turn back. These guys are fucking royalty at this place, and yet, here they are throwing fries at each other and talking about who's tits are better, like a bunch of clowns.

"No, bro, but really. Which one?"

I growl around the bite of burger in my mouth and glance over my shoulder again. One dude in a letterman jacket is grinning away as he pours what's clearly booze out of a flask into a can of soda. He nods his chin at the equally douchey looking prick across from him.

"Fuck, man, I don't know. I mean, Anthony's got the cute innocent blonde thing going on, but Waverly Owens?" He whistles. "Shit, I love me some red hair, man," he grins.

"Anthony's taken anyways," another guy pipes up.

The first guy frowns. "By who?"

"Some older guy I heard. Doesn't go to Winchester."

The first guy rolls his eyes. "Whatever sounds like bullshit. He's still fair game."

Fair game.

My hand clenches into a fist. I don't even know the people they're talking about, but guys like this make me want to hit things.

"And Waverly Owens? Fuckin' seriously?" The third guy snorts and punches the second guy in the arm. "Bro, the Vice Principal's daughter? Are you high?"

"Whatever man. You seen her at a swim meet? Hell yeah, I'd get a piece of that!" His buddies cheer around him, and I grind my teeth.

"Yo, how about Ramona Weiss?"

Yup, that's it.

I turn around completely and clear my throat.

"Hey, shithead."

The jock bros pause, turning slowly to glower at me.

"What the fuck did you say, trash?" the first guy spits at me.

"I said hey shithead."

I stand, flexing my full height and clenching my hands to fists.

"How about you jerk-offs spare us your dipshit fantasies about people who I'm pretty sure wouldn't give you the time of day."

The group glances at each other before the first guy snorts and flips me off.

"Fuck off, trash. Go back to the trailer park or something."

For whatever reason, he's going with "trash." Maybe it's the tats, or the scruffy look even in the lame uniform. I doubt he knows my family's history of coming from nothing into the fortune my dad has built today. But also, I really, truly don't give a shit what these meatheads think of me.

"Gladly, but first, you're going to stop talking shit."

"The fuck do you care?" the second guy mutters. "You even know them?"

"Ramona Weiss is going to be my stepsister, so, yeah, I do. And I'm asking you nicely to knock it the fuck off." I smile thinly at them. "Anyways, enjoy your lunch and jerking each other off." I turn and sit, picking up my burger and taking another bite as I ignore the muttered insults at my back.

"Yo, but what about teachers?"

I hear the first guy chuckle.

"Shit, you wanna bang some teacher ass?"

"Hell yeah, bro! And some aren't even that old, man. You know who I'm talking about."

"Who?"

I hear a low whistle.

"Dude, Mr. Hayes."

There's a round of hoots and catcalls around the jock table, but I can barely hear it over the sound of my fury rising and the blood thundering in my ears.

"Oh shit, bro!"

"For real! And, you know how art dudes are. You know he's down to get freaky. Shit, I bet he'd take us all—"

I'm up and whirling on them in a second, heat blazing through my veins like diesel as I snarl.

"Hey," I hiss. They all turn, almost surprised to see me again.

"What do you want now, trash?" the first guy sighs.

"I want you to shut the fuck up, before I shut your mouth for you."

The guy pauses, his eyes narrowing at me as he swallows.

"And how you gonna do that, gutter trash?"

"By sticking your head up his ass," I say flatly, nodding at the second guy.

The table goes quiet as they all glance at each other.

"Good talk," I hiss.

I start to turn, and that's when the French fry hits me in the face.

"Hey, trash. Guess what."

I turn and see the first guy grinning smugly at me from the other side of his table.

"I'm gonna talk about whoever the fuck I want, okay? So, if I wanna talk about how I want to get my dick all up in Mr. Hayes, you're gonna sit there and shut your fucking—"

He doesn't finish that, because that's when I lunge right across the table and tackle him to the ground.

Oh, and now it's on.

I slam my fist into him, roaring as I feel the rest of them pile on like the pussies they are. Fists and feet rain down on me, but I don't let off on the guy I've got on the ground. I just keep hitting him, and snarling in his terrified face until suddenly, I feel hands grabbing me and hauling me away from the whole pile.

"Hey! Hey!"

I'm still struggling to break free of the hands holding me back when another arm goes around my neck and tightens just enough to let me know whoever it is knows what they're doing. I growl, snarling at the punk-ass bleeding on the floor, but I hold back.

"Easy, Scott!" an older voice barks into my ear, bringing me back to earth. I turn and realize it's Principal Kane holding me back, along with some guy in a football letterman jacket. Across from us, Coach Kirby and some other guy in a football jacket are holding back the other players.

"This is over!" Principal Kane booms over us all. "Is that understood, gentlemen?"

The other guys nod.

"Is that understood, Mr. Scott."

I glare at the guy on the ground and nod.

"Yeah, it's over."

"My office," Principal Kane growls, his dark eyes fuming and his strong jaw clenched.

"Now."

* * *

"He's just bent out of shape that I made a joke about his girlfriend."

Derrick Maybach, the little bitch I knocked down, scowls at Principal Kane before turning to glare at me. Behind him, sitting on the small sofa in Principal Kane's office, is one of the football guys who helped break up the fight, this guy Beckett Truman who's apparently the star quarterback. I don't recognize him as being part of the "who would you bang" bullshit.

"Who was he talking about, Mr. Scott."

I shrug. "A bunch of people. They were being crude and disrespectful, and it fucking got to me."

Principal Kane glares at me. "Let's try and watch the language, Mr. Scott."

I just shrug.

"He got his panties all twisted up about Mr. Hayes," Derrick snorts, glancing at me. "You got widdle cwush on your awt teacher, trash?"

My hand closes to a fist under the desk, but Principal Kane gets to him first.

"Knock that shit off, Mr. Maybach."

Derrick looks shocked.

"Whoa, what happened to watching our language, Principal—"

"Derrick."

Coach Kirby, who's been standing in the corner of the office leaning against a bookshelf, suddenly opens his mouth, and we both turn to him.

"Shut up."

I see a half smile creep over Principal Kane's mouth before he stifles it.

"Thank you, Coach Kirby. Now, gentlemen, we have a strict zero tolerance policy around here on fighting."

"He was being a douchebag," I growl. "So, I put him in his place."

Principal Kane arches a brow at me.

"We don't put people in their place around here, Mr. Scott."

"Yeah? Well maybe more of the students around here would do well to be put in their place."

I can hear Beckett snort behind me, and I glance up in time to catch a small smirk on Coach Kirby's face. He even winks at me when he realizes I've spotted him, but then he hides it away.

"That's not for you to decide, Mr. Scott," Principal Kane snaps. He sighs and sits back in his chair, shaking his head.

"I hate to do this, but you're on suspension. One week."

"Fine," I mutter.

Derrick grins.

"Enjoy your vacation, tra—"

"Mr. Maybach," Principal Kane growls, turning to glare at Derrick. "So are you."

Derrick's jaw drops. "What? No fucking way! Principal Kane, I've got football! There are going to be scouts at next week's game—!"

"Not my problem," our principal growls. He nods at Beckett, who stands.

"Mr. Truman, please straighten this crap out."

"Beck! Bro! Tell him this is bullshit! Tell him—"

"No."

Beckett glares at Derrick.

"You fucked—" he clears his throat, glancing at Principal Kane. "You messed up, Derrick. There's no place for that shit on this team."

Derrick's lips pull back in a snarl. "Fuck you, man. You're supposed to be my bro."

"I told you to watch that temper, Maybach," Beckett growls. "Take the week, and when you come back, that attitude better be fixed or I'm giving your starting spot to someone else."

Derrick snarls, but he turns away from Beckett to glare at me. "This isn't over, trash," he mutters as he stands.

I just smile and lean back in my chair. "Any time, limp-dick."

"That's enough, Mr. Scott," Principal Kane mutters as Derrick storms out of the room, followed by Beckett.

"Your suspension begins now. You want me to get your dad down here to give you a ride or something?"

"I'm fine. I'll bike." I stand and start to turn for the door.

"Mr. Scott." I turn back to see Principal Kane nodding slowly at me.

"When you do come back, this whole thing is going to be erased from your record."

I frown. "Why?"

Coach Kirby rolls his eyes and pats me on the shoulder as he pauses on his way out. "Hey, Ethan," he leans close. "Shut the fuck up and say thank you."

I half smile as he leaves, looking up to see Principal Kane shaking his head and hiding a small grin.

"For standing up for the student body of Winchester, Mr. Scott. Now," he points a finger at me. "No more fighting. Now, sorry to say but rules are rules. I need you off this campus in half an hour for the next week."

"Can do," I mutter. "And thanks, Principal Kane."

Outside the office, I bump right into Beckett and the other football guy who helped break up the fight.

"Now what," I mutter.

Beckett just grins and holds his hands up. "Nothin', man. Just wanted to say sorry you got pulled in Derrick's bullshit."

"And to say thanks for putting him in line," the other guys chuckles.

"No problem."

"This is Carson Lafayette. Our wide receiver and kind of second in command for the team."

Carson nods, but I just glance at them blankly.

Beckett clears his throat.

"Listen, Ethan, you ever think about playing ball?"

I snort, grinning. "No, Captain America, I haven't."

Beckett brushes off the dig and shrugs. "You should."

"I'm good."

Beckett sighs. "C'mon man. Look, I get it, alright?"

I arch a brow at him and Carson. "I sincerely doubt you do." I chuckle and shake my head. "Star quarterback, blond, probably got some sweet ivy league college all lined up next year. You're probably dating the head cheerleader too, huh?" Beckett frowns, and I hoot out a laugh. "Wait, shit, are you really?" He nods, and I laugh. "See, man? So, no, I don't think you 'get it' at all. I mean how's that trust fund working out for you?"

"How's yours," Beckett shoots right back. I scowl, my jaw clenching. "Look, dude, we're all rich kids here, alright?" He mutters. "Trust me, I get that this place is ridiculous at times. I get that most of these kids are going to go on to drink their way through ivy league schools and sit back on their parents' money for the rest of their lives doing coke and buying sports cars. And you can do that, or you can do what you're doing and just fuck around pretending to be James Dean all day—"

"You don't know shit about—"

"Or," Beckett growls. "Or you use the fact that we're here to get a huge step up in life. You're skipping the line, man. You're in the fast lane here."

I roll my eyes, sighing as I clap him on the shoulder. "Thanks for great pep talk, but I'm not playing football."

"Fine," he mutters. He and Carson glance at each other before I turn and start to walk away.

"Hey, Ethan."

"What," I grumble, turning back to them.

"You and I both know you're better than the fist-fighting, zero-shits-given slacker."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks, QB." I start to turn again, but he keeps going.

"Straight A's? You got offered an art scholarship to RISD at sixteen?"

I whirl around, my eyes narrowing. "You spying on my record, dick?"

"Yeah," Beckett growls. "I did."

I tighten my jaw as I step towards him. "Why."

"Because a six-foot-three, two-hundred-pound dude who looks like he could floss his teeth with most prep school football assholes started at the school where I'm the football captain. And I want you on my fucking team."

Slowly, a grin creeps over my face. This Beckett dude might actually be an okay guy. "Alright fair enough," I grumble.

"You're better than this."

I frown. "You're the second person to tell me that this week."

"Yeah? Who was the first?"

Emile. "A friend."

"Smart friend."

Beckett nods at me, grinning. "We practice every day after school. You know where to find me."


	11. 11

**CHAPTER 11**

Emile

"I heard he might need plastic surgery."

There's a snort, and I glance up from my paperwork to catch the eye roll Ramona Weiss shoots Zara Bateman.

"Good. And I hope they don't use anesthesia. Derrick Maybach is a creep."

I only half hide the grin on my own face as I watch Zara laugh before she glances back at her clay sculpture of the dove she's been working on. It's a project day, so we're all actually in the studio space next to the main art classroom. Also, Ramona is right. I've only had the displeasure of having to deal with Derrick Maybach once, when his father's lawyer came in and demanded I sign off on his "out-of-class independent art study" to fulfill his arts credit at Winchester.

Apparently, drawing a fucking picture, once, was too much of a time sink on Derrick's busy schedule of football and generally acting like a spoiled asshole.

"Wait so he really beat the shit out of him?"

"Him and like half the fucking football team," Zara giggles, pushing her glasses up her nose.

I wish I could say I keep my nose out of student drama, but please. Are you kidding me? It's like the best teen drama ever, and it's not even on TV. It's live in the hallways of Winchester. Damn right I eavesdrop when I can. Also, Zara Bateman and Ramona Weiss are my kind of people. Smart, down-to-earth, and sassy. They're also not the type to get that involved with boy-drama or who wore what, or whose father is making more than whoever else's father. And at Winchester, I can tell you, that's a rarity.

Zara is an art nerd through and through, though her main thing at Winchester is the school band. Well, multiple ones. She's first chair trumpet in the school orchestra, lead guitar in the jazz band, and she plays the tuba in the marching pep band, which makes her ridiculously cool in my book. The occasional blue or purple hair that I wish was allowed in the staff dress code here only cements that cool factor for her.

Ramona and her are friends through orchestra, where she plays clarinet. Romana's one of those "jack of all trades" types when it comes to school cliques. She's in the orchestra, and she loves my art classes, which should put her squarely in the "art-nerd, counter-culture" crowd. But then, she's also head of the debate team, class Valedictorian, and on the varsity cheer team, so go figure.

Oh, right, and she's also Celia Weiss's daughter.

…Celia Weiss as in Ethan's new stepmother.

I blanch, quickly looking down at my work as the two girls keep talking.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, they dog-piled on when he and Derrick went at it."

"Wow, real tough."

Zara snorts. "Seriously. But he was apparently fighting like four of them when Coach Kirby and Principal Kane pulled them all apart."

"Yeah, well, he's a big guy."

"So is Jamison."

My eyes freeze on the page I'm reading as Zara goes on.

"I can't believe those two are going to be your stepbrothers."

The realization suddenly hits me that it's Ethan who's been in a fist fight.

"Ugh, me neither. At least it's less than a year before college."

"Ethan seems… nice? Or, I don't know, not a douchebag at least."

"No, he's fine, I guess. Jamison is a total dick though."

"I mean, a cute dick?"

The two of them snort before Ramona scowls and shakes her head.

"Ew, no. Plus double ew. That's my stepbrother. My mom is going to flip though about Ethan getting suspended."

My head snaps up, and I'm opening my mouth before I can even stop myself.

"Did you say Ethan Scott was suspended?" I blurt out, cringing the second I do.

Zara glances up at me and grins.

"Yeah, Mr. Hayes. Him and Derrick Maybach, for fighting in the lunch room. Why?"

I swallow, thinking quickly.

"Uh, nothing," I mumble. "He was," and I think quickly, "was supposed to meet up with me later to go over some art school applications."

Ramona makes a face. "Sorry, Mr. Hayes. You want me to bring him anything?" Her mouth twists. "I don't know if you heard, but he actually lives at our house now. Him and his brother, since their dad—"

"I heard," I smile quickly. "And congrats to your mom."

"Thanks."

The two of them turn back to their projects, and I sit, fuming as I snatch up my phone to text Ethan. Why am I texting him? Why do I even have a student's personal cell number like this?

Oh, right, because I'm screwing him and having the time of my damn life doing it.

_Suspended? Really? I type angrily._

He replies instantly. _Yeah, really._

_For fighting?_

_Apparently, they don't like that here._

_You think?_

There's nothing for a minute before the text bubbles reappear, and he sends a reply.

_What are you doing right now?_

I glance around the classroom, feeling scandalous that I'm texting him like this, here. _Studio hour._

_I want to show you something…_

My pulse quickness, and I swallow as I blush. _I'm at SCHOOL, Ethan. Before you send me a dick pic._

Instantly, my phone buzzes with a call, and my hand is shaking as his number pops up. I snatch the phone up, whirling and stepping through the doorway into my main and now empty classroom before answering. He's laughing when I do.

"So was that a request?"

My cock twitches. "That was not a request," I hiss.

"You sure? It sounds like you want a picture."

"I really, really don't." There's a long pause, and I can almost hear that grin on his face.

"You sure about that," he purrs lowly, making my pulse skip.

I smirk. "Not while I'm at school," I say quietly, glancing back into the studio.

"But maybe after, huh?" I pinch my thigh hard, trying to shut down the quickening of my pulse as I think about his cock. "Maybe later you'd want to do more than see my cock."

"Maybe," I breathe.

"Come over," Ethan growls.

"Where?"

"My house."

I blink, balking slightly. "Ethan, I'm not coming over to your parents' house."

"Why not?"

"Jesus Christ, you know why not."

This time I know I can hear him grinning that cocky grin. "Come around the back way. There's an access road at the back end of the estate where you can park and look for the gate in the hedge back there. I'll meet you."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

I blink, swallowing thickly as I glance at the time and then back into the studio room. My eyes land on Ramona, and I hear my heartbeat in my ear.

"What about the rest of the people who live in your—"

"Just trust me, okay? You going to be there after classes get out?"

I let the idea simmer in my head, which of course leads to all sorts of filthy thoughts that have me getting hard. "Okay, fine," I whisper quickly.

"Good," he growls. "See you soon, beautiful."

He hangs up, leaving me shivering with forbidden excitement. I pinch myself again, the pain helps center me back into reality as I return to the studio.

* * *

What the hell am I doing?

I step out of my parked car on the old access road, closing the door behind me. I look up at the huge old hedge covering the ancient wrought-iron fencing of the Weiss Estate, and a thin whistle comes out of my lips.

Yeah, holy shit. There's money, then there's "fuck-you" money, and then there's "our family was rich before America was even a country" rich. The Weisses are that last one, and this house is proof of it. It's really more of a castle, if we're splitting hairs here, and it sits on something like fifty acres of pristinely manicured lawns, hedges, rose gardens, duck ponds, and woods.

Thankfully, the access road is at the very back of the property, far from the main house. Because the idea of a member of the school board poking her head out the window and seeing me sneaking into her yard with her eighteen year old son sounds like a fucking nightmare. But that's exactly what I'm doing—stealing into a boy's house like I'm still in fucking high school. Though, I never actually did this in high school.

I walk along the hedge, until finally, I see the wrought iron gate. And when I step up to it, I startle as I realize Ethan is standing on the other side of it.

"A fight? Seriously?" I mutter as he swings the gate wide, and he arches his brow like he's amused at my sourness

"Look I was fighting because some douchebag was talking shit about you."

"About me?"

My face pales, and Ethan quickly shakes his head.

"Not about that," he grins. "Not you and me. Just dumb jock bullshit about 'getting' you."

I would say I'm surprised but hormones make people stupid.

"They talked shit. I mean what was I supposed to do?"

My brow furrows. "Let them? I mean who cares?"

"I care," he growls fiercely, making me shiver as those piercing blue eyes burn into me. "I care a lot. And no one is talking shit about you."

I inhale deeply, and part of me wants to throw my arms around him and kiss him for being my knight in shining armor. But the other part of me is aware of how badly that could have turned out.

"How does that look, Ethan? You throwing fists to defend my honor?"

He scowls. "Jesus, Emile, I don't fucking care how it looks."

He moves into me quickly, and before I know it, I'm gasping as he tugs me against him, wraps his arms around me, and kisses me fiercely. I moan into his mouth, sinking into him before reason slaps me in the face. I pull away, panting, my eyes searching his.

"And if someone saw this? You and me like this?"

"I'm eighteen."

"And I'm twenty-six!"

"So?"

"And your teacher?"

He shrugs. "So, I'll quit art class."

I glare at him. "The hell you will. You're too good. Also, it wouldn't make a difference."

He grins at me, nodding his head.

"C'mere," he beckons.

"What?"

"I want to show you something."

"I'm not sure sneaking into your house is a good idea, Ethan. What if your mother is home? Or Ramona?"

He shakes his head. "We're not going into the main house. C'mon."

He takes my hand and pulls me down a path, and stupidly, I willingly follow. We walk through a gorgeous old rose garden full of ancient stone statues, and through more hedges, walking along gravel paths, and then paving stones, until suddenly we find ourselves emerging from some hedges in front of what looks like an old garage or carriage house.

"In here."

Ethan pulls me through the side door and flips a switch, and instantly, my jaw drops as my eyes go wide.

"Oh wow…"

The big open garage space has been turned into what looks to be mostly a working art studio, with a small section set aside for his motorcycle and a workbench full of tools and greasy bike parts. Up above in a loft space under strings of garden lights is a huge wood-framed bed and an open door to a white-tiled bathroom. But the majority of the space is all art. Huge canvases, finished or half-finished, adorn the walls, with an easel to one side, paint all over the floor, and shelves and shelves of spray-cans, oil paints, watercolors, and more.

"Holy shit, Ethan." I turn to him, my mouth still hanging open as he grins."Wait. These are all you?"

He nods. "Yeah. When I moved here fresh out of Lenox Hill, I spotted this place away from the house and just sort of set up shop here. My dad wanted me in the house with the rest of the family, but Celia took my side. Convinced him it'd be a good spot for me to 'get creative' in."

I smile. "Nice going, Celia."

"She's pretty cool, actually."

I turn, my eyes scanning over the myriad of paintings around the room. A lot are his go-to medium of spray paint in fluid, aggressive style. But there's also traditional looking still-life oil paintings, some charcoal sketches, and even watercolor landscapes.

"Ethan, these are fucking amazing."

"Thanks."

"No, I mean it. These are really, really good." He shrugs, glancing at a few of them. I set my jaw, taking his hands and pulling him around to face me. "I'm not being nice. This is seriously impressive."

He grins a little wider. "Thanks. I don't show these to anyone, not even really Jamison."

"You should. People should see these."

He shrugs. "Eh."

"I'm serious!"

He grins down at me, pulling me close before he leans down and kisses me softly on the lips.

"Thanks. Really."

"Look," I say quietly. "No more suspensions, okay? Just…" I shake my head. "I get it, okay? I get that Winchester is…"

"Full of assholes?"

I laugh. "Yes."

"Rich, snobby assholes."

"Hey, it's also got good people too, though. And you can go anywhere from this school. You just have to—"

"Please don't say the words 'apply yourself'."

I grin, flipping him off as he chuckles. "How about 'stay out of trouble', and I'll help you get into the best art school I can get you into. Because the world needs talent like this." He says nothing, and when I look back up at him, I shiver at the intense way he's looking at me. "What?"

"Why do you want to help me so much?"

"Because."

I turn away and he groans as he pulls me close.

"Because what?"

"Because maybe I kinda like you, Ethan Scott," I say turning back to him, looking into his eyes. And when I do, my heart jumps as I lose myself in his gaze.

"I kinda like you too, Emile Hayes," he purrs, pulling me into him. Our lips crush together, and I moan into his mouth as his hands slide over me. I gasp, grinding against him, and when I feel him start to tug at my buckle, I moan as I kiss him harder.

"Hang on," he growls quietly, pulling away and eyeing me heatedly.

"What?"

He grins.

"I want to paint you."

I feel the surprise written all over my face. "Oh, do you? Let me guess, 'artistic nude'?"

"You can call it whatever the fuck you want, but you're damn well gonna be nude."

I harden as his eyes burn into me.

"Take your clothes off, Mr. Hayes."


	12. 12

**CHAPTER 12**

Ethan

Somehow, I manage to keep my hands off of him as we head up to the loft where I keep my bed. Well, that's not entirely true. I put my hands on him plenty, especially when I'm a total gentleman and help him peel his clothes off. But I do resist claiming him right there, at least for now. Because I need to paint him. He's too gorgeous, and too incredible for me not to.

I grunt as I set up the easel and sit behind it. I'm setting up my paints and brushes, but I'm mostly watching Emile stretch out naked on my bed.

My cock throbs, but I clear my throat as I concentrate on the task at hand. My eyes linger on him, and my brushes slowly paint the page, almost without me even looking at them. The light coming in through the window above the bed just fucking glows on his skin, his perfect curves, his wild eyes, and his lips parted just so as I capture it all on the canvas.

And he's a great model. He lies still, on his stomach but half turned to me, giving me a view of his perfectly sculpted chest and just a little teasing glimpse of his cock. My eyes wander over his bare legs and the firm curve of his muscular ass, and my balls swell as I paint it all across the canvas.

"You're a good model," I say, trying to distract myself from the need to just pounce on him and sink my cock deep into him from behind.

"Flatterer."

I chuckle. "No, I mean you're good at posing. You don't move around."

"Not my first rodeo."

I arch a brow. "Oh?"

"I did a ton of nude modeling in art school for figure drawing classes. I mean, it paid fifty bucks a session."

My jaw clenches, my brow furrowing, but I say nothing as I continue to push paint across the canvas. I'm not clueless enough to think Emile hasn't had any sort of history being eight years older than me. I truly don't give a shit about whatever is in his past—I mean, I've been no angel. But the idea of a bunch of art assholes gawking at him nude in the middle of a class gets my blood burning like—

"They were all-girls art classes, just so you know," he adds, winking at me and then laughing. "It was all over your face, Ethan."

"None of my business," I grin.

"Well now it is. And I'll have you know, I'm usually a bit of a prude, thank you very much."

I grin, eyeing him. "Oh really."

"Yep."

"Aside from fucking strangers in alleys, you mean."

The barest hint of pink appears on his face and he rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. "Aside from that," he whispers.

I keep painting, losing the brushes in favor of my fingers as I push the paint around. I smudge, and streak, and blend, and work it over and over until slowly, there he is. There's Emile, nude and gorgeous and perfectly captured in light and shadow on the canvas.

I sit back, nodding quietly to myself.

It's perfect.

"Are you done?"

I glance over at him and nod. "Yeah."

"Let me see!"

He jumps off the bed, stretching for a minute after having laid there for so long. My eyes slide over him, a low growl catching in my throat and my cock pulsing as I take him in. He walks over to the easel, coming around to my side of it, and his breath catches.

"Holy shit, Ethan." His voice is quiet, his eyes wide. "It's…" He shakes his head, cheeks fully glowing. "It's gorgeous."

"Good subject matter," I purr.

He grins, turning to me. "No, that's all you. I mean you made me look like a professional model."

"Well, that's because you are, Mr. Hayes," I growl, turning towards him on my stool. "You're my centerfold model."

"Here's to you, Mrs Robinson, though in our case I suppose I would be Gustav von Aschenbach," he quips, and I roll my eyes at his nerdy joke.

"We can agree that twenty-six isn't 'old', right?"

"How about when I'm thirty-six?"

"I'll be twenty-eight. Who cares."

"That's a long time from now," he says quietly. "And trust me, you will not want to stick around me for that—"

"Yeah," I growl, standing, my eyes burning into his. "Yeah, I will."

He looks away, his lip catching in his teeth. "And when I'm forty-six?"

"Thirty-eight."

"Fifty-six?"

"Forty-eight.

"Sixty-six? Seventy-six?"

I shake my head. "You know exactly where I'll be."

He swallows. "Eighty-six?"

I frown. "Well, no, by eighty-six, I'll definitely be looking for someone younger. Some hot young seventy-eight-year-old maybe."

He laughs, throwing his arms around me and snuggling close against my chest.

"I lo—"

He stiffens, his mouth snapping shut.

"Sorry, that was… I don't know where—"

"I love you too."

His head snaps up, eyes blazing into mine as the words I've never said to anyone leave my lips.

"Ethan, you don't—"

"Yeah, I do." I growl. "I love you, Emile. And I'm not going anywhere, no matter how old you get."

"I—" he swallows. "Ethan, people will—"

"Screw them. I love you, and I honestly don't care who knows it."

"Well, the school administration might care a whole lot."

I grin. "Well, after graduation then. I'll shout it out the second I walk across that stage."

He looks at me, beaming, this glow on his face as our eyes meet.

"I love you, Ethan."

I lean down, and when our lips crush together, I lose it completely. My hands slide over his hips, and when he jumps at my touch, I pull away and suddenly laugh.

Shit.

My very, very paint covered hands slide wetly over his skin, leaving smudges across his hips.

"Fuck, sorry, I'll get—"

His hand swipes at the paint, and before I can say another word, he's smeared it over my cheek. My jaw drops, and he grins mischievously as we freeze like that for one second.

Oh, and then it's on.

He laughs as I pounce, lifting him up and tossing him down across my bed. My shirt and jeans are off in a second, and when I kick my boxers away and my thick cock springs free, Emile eyes it hungrily before I jump onto the bed. My hands slide over his skin, smearing paint over his body as he squirms about and laughs. His hands do the same, leaving hand-shaped paint marks over my chest and my arms.

I palm his chest, painting it with my hand as he laughs and reaches around to slap my ass, leaving a big blue and white hand-print on it. But then our lips come crashing together, and I'm lost.

His legs spread around my hips, and our kiss never even breaks as I roll my hips and feel him ease my cock into him. I moan in surprise. He's ready for me, knew what he was coming over for. His wet eager little hole already stretched, welcomes my swollen head inside, and he moans deeply into my mouth, whimpering as I drive my big cock home. His paint-streaked legs wrap around my hips, his hands holding my face as I ease out and thrust deeply back in. Our bodies slide wetly together with paint, my sheets a fucking mess, but I don't care.

I don't give a shit about anything but him, right here, right now with me.

We move slow—slower than we ever have. Before it's been animalistic. No, this time, we take our time. This time, I'm not just fucking Emile Hayes. This time, we're making love.

And fuck is that a first for me.

His moans echo through my ears as he kisses over my neck, his hands sliding around to dig into my back. My balls swell with cum as I push into him again and again, feeling his slick cock against my stomach, his tight, perfect hole pulling me back in with every thrust. The way his nipples drag against my chest, the way the roughness of his thighs rubs my hips. The way our bodies move like we've been doing this with each other our whole lives. All of it is just fucking perfection.

We start to move a little faster, my heavy balls slapping his ass and his grunts urging me on. My cock is so fucking hard as I plunge into him again and again, one hand sliding down to grab his ass and spread him even more open for me. I can feel his ass rippling up and down my length, his cock dripping cum down to our balls, and as we thrust together again and again, I know we're both going to fall.

"Ethan…"

His voice in my ear, followed by the broken shout of pleasure that wrenches from somewhere deep inside of him, is the last I can stand. I groan, saying his name again and again into his lips as I kiss him, thrusting my thickness into him over and over again until suddenly, I feel him shatter under me.

His hips buck up against mine, his body jolting like it's been struck by lightning. And when I feel his sweet cum spray all over my stomach and chest, his hole clamp down on my cock, I can feel every single second of him coming for me. He cries out, clinging to me and gasping as my cock sinks deep inside of him and suddenly I explode. The orgasm washes over me, my hot cum erupts into him. Pulse after pulse, I roar into his lips as I empty every single drop from my balls deep inside of him, the both of us rocking together over and over until we finally collapse onto the paint-stained sheets.

We roll onto our sides, our bodies still entwined, and my cock still buried inside of him as we pant for air.

"Fuck, Emile," I groan, swallowing as my hands stroke his skin.

"You're telling me," he groans, laughing as he drops his forehead to my chest. "Jesus Christ are you good at that."

I grin, and I'm leaning in to kiss him, when suddenly, the door to the garage bangs open.

I swear, lurching out of bed as Emile scrambles for the sheets to cover himself. I grab a towel, wrapping it around my waist before I whirl for the railing and jut my head over to look down at whoever's just barged in.

It's Jamison. In the scheme of things, he's maybe the least shittiest of the list of people who could have walked in.

"Dude, knock?"

He looks up at me, his eyebrows raised.

"We need to talk."

"Later, I'm busy. And fuck, man. Knock next time—"

"I don't mind if Mr. Hayes is here."

I freeze, my body going still and my eyes locking onto him.

"What are you talking about."

Jamison rolls his eyes. "I might be your twin, but that doesn't mean I'm an idiot too."

"J, I don't know what you think—"

"Hey, Mr. Hayes?" he calls out.

My eyes narrow at him as I hear the rustle behind me. I glance back to see him staring at me, face white, and eyes looking horrified.

"Look, he can stay hidden, but the parental units are looking for you. Figured it would be better that I come get you than one of them."

My gut twists, my heart beating hard.

"How do you know," I growl.

Jamison's jaw tightens, and he shakes his head.

"I recognize his car. Hiding out back here. Plus I see the way you look at each other when no one is looking."

Oh fuck.

I turn, and when my eyes lock with his, I see fear written large across his face.

Five minutes ago, I had perfection. I had the man of my dreams, the one I love, wrapped in my arms, and the rest of the world couldn't touch us. Now, our bubble burst.


	13. 13

**CHAPTER 13**

Ethan

Well, this is not the worst-case scenario but it's still not good. So much for keeping it a secret. I don't try to deny it since nothing we did is a crime. So now the three of us are sitting, dressed, shifting awkwardly in my studio. I glance at Emile, who's still white-faced and shaking..

"I don't care who started this thing between the two of you," Jamison says growls. "I know it's not technically a crime. I know you're eighteen, Ethan, but…"

He gives me a sad look before turning his gaze on Emile and shaking his head.

"Mr Hayes…"

"I know," he says softly.

"No," I hiss. "You're not going to fucking shame him into—"

"He's right, Ethan," he says quietly, eyes looking at the floor. This was—"

"Don't say it," I growl. "Don't you dare say it. I wanted this, okay! I wanted you."

"Ethan," Jamison sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "This can turn into a fucking disaster. I don't care if you two are fucking, but the school? Dad? The cops?"

"Fuck that."

He smiles. "You're a good person, Ethan."

I roll my eyes and look away.

"No, you are, even if you're hell-bent on pretending you aren't. And you're a damned good teacher, Mr Hayes," he says with a sigh. "But can't you keep it in your pants for a couple more months?"

"I should go," Emile says.

My heart drops, and I watch him nod to himself as he gets up.

"No!" I snarl. "No, don't go!"

"Ethan!"

"No!"

"Ethan!" his voice cuts through. So does his hand on my arm.

"Please," he whispers. "He's right. This can't keep happening. This is the only way. You know that," he says softly, sadness in his voice.

"This is bullshit, Emile. We belong together. You know that!"

"No." His voice breaks as he lets the word tumble out, and when I turn, my heart starts to break as I see the resignation in his eyes. "Ethan, you'd be throwing away a lot of great opportunities if—"

"Emile, I don't—"

"But I care!" he shouts, shaking his head as his hand finds mine and squeezes. Jamison turns away, like he's giving us some space alone.

"If you don't stick with school," he says sternly. "If you leave, to try to make this work, I'm never speaking to you again."

I growl, my jaw grinding.

"It's better now, than having the entire school find out. This is what has to happen," he says softly, squeezing my hand before walking out.

"I'm really sorry about this, Ethan," Jamison says quietly as he leaves as well.

I rush out to his car, catching him before he gets in. "Emile—" I start

"Ethan," he says quietly. "This…"

"You don't have to go, Em—"

"Stop, Ethan!" he yells suddenly, turning to open his car door, I slam it shut with my hand and spin him around.

"Damnit, Emile," I hiss, my eyes searching his and my heart breaking as I see his fighting back tears.

"Please, Ethan," he whispers. "Please, if this meant anything to you, you have to let me—"

"You mean everything to me!" I roar, and he lets out a shaky breath.

"Don't chase me. And don't you dare leave school for me," he hisses, eyes narrowing at me. "Do what you came here to do. Paint, go to college, find someone who—"

"Christ, Emile, I don't want—"

"Please, Ethan. For me. Because if this thing between us ends up wrecking your future, I'll never forgive myself, and I'll never forgive you."

I blink, stunned. So, stunned that when he opens the door again, slides behind the wheel, and closes the door, I let it happen.

"I have to go, okay?" he whispers not looking at me. "Look, we'll talk later, okay? We will. I just…" he shakes his head. "I need to go breathe and clear my head." He smiles wryly.

Our eyes meet, and I nod. He smiles sadly, and when I lean in through the open window and crush my lips to his, he's clutching my face tightly like he never wants to let me go. But then we do, because I know he has to go. He pulls away and gives me a small wave as I just stand there like an asshole, watching him drive away.

Jamison ends up bailing me out of whatever family thing he was supposed to be getting me in to in the first place. We both agree not to talk about it. I stay in my studio for hours, taking out my emotion on the canvas. It doesn't help. I then work on my bike until the sun starts to disappear.

I can't take it anymore, waiting for him to call or text me so I decide to go to his house. The problem is that I've taken apart my bike while I waited on tenterhooks. I have Jamison drop me off at campus. As soon as he stops, I'm off running, my lungs burning and my pulse racing as I charge right for his house.

It's dark when I get there. It's empty too. Deep down I think I knew. I stand cold and hollow in the doorway, my heart stopping as I just stare at the empty cottage.

Well, not totally empty.

Because there, in the middle of the floor, propped against a chair, is a painting. It's me, shirtless and slumped against the window of his Grand Wagoneer, grinning. There's an orange glow over me, and you can see the rain just fucking pouring down behind me outside. And in my hand, is his hand.

Also, there's a note.

_Ethan—_

_Sometimes, I like to take a photo of something incredible so I can paint it accurately later. I didn't have one for this, so, it's from memory. But I think it turned out exactly how I remember it. I want you to remember us like this. You're going to do amazing things, and I can't wait to read about you in the New York Times. Go live your life, Ethan, and remember us like this._

_I love you,_

_Emile_

I drop to my knees, the note falling from my hands as something cold slices through my heart.


	14. 14

**CHAPTER 14**

Emile

_One Month Later_

There's a cool chill in the air as I step out of my apartment building. I shiver, the wind whipping through my hair as I turn up the collar of my jacket and dip my head into the chilly air. My feet move, my body walks forward, but as usual, my mind lingers somewhere behind me, barely able to catch up.

And my heart? Well, that's been missing for weeks now.

Chicago is colder than Southworth, that's for sure. Especially as fall begins to turn into winter months. Another shiver hits me as the wind whips up the back of my jacket, and my hands push deep into my pockets as I trudge towards work. Well, one of my jobs. Since quitting Winchester and landing in Chicago, I've kept myself busy working two jobs: days at the art supply store down the street from my Wicker Park apartment, and nights bartending at an obnoxiously clubby bar a few blocks the other direction. It's a grind, I'll say that, but it keeps me busy. And they keep my mind occupied. Kind of. Sort of.

…But not really.

Between the two jobs, I barely have time to paint or draw. What I do have plenty of time for is regrets and second thoughts. And missing him, a lot, all the time. But, on the upside, I tell myself it could be worse. We could have been caught by his parents, or the Principal, and I could be in jail.

I haven't even bothered to look for teaching jobs. A few weeks ago, I did get a nice email from Colton Kane, telling me that the position was still there for me if I wanted to go back. He also told me that he'd be happy to write me a recommendation if I decided to go back to teaching. But I needed to get away from it all.

So, I walk on, through the cold late fall air, to my art supply store job. And mostly, I miss Ethan. A lot, even though I know deep down this is the right way we need to go. Or at least, I'm still trying to convince myself that this is the right or only way for us to go. I left because I love him, and I knew loving him meant letting him go, for his sake. I wasn't about to make his life any more complex, or any more messed up if we got caught. Or any more messed up than the life of a guy his age should be. He's already dealt with an absent mother, and then reform school. He didn't need me and the drama being with me would have brought down on him.

I fight back the waves of despair as I duck my head down further into the wind and trudge on down the street. I stopped answering Ethan's texts three weeks ago. He stopped texting at all a week later. And maybe that hurts even more than leaving him the way I did, but again, I know it's the way it has to be.

The bell dings on the art supply store door, and Mildred, the older shop owner slash eccentric photographer slash half-crazy cat lady, looks up and smiles as I step in.

"Cold out there?"

I nod, smiling as I pull my coat off and stash it and my stuff in the tiny back office.

"It's been slow all morning," she says with an absent wave of her hand before snatching up her own wacky jacket.

"So, I'm going to take Mr. Tiddlywinks to get his ear checked out."

I frown a bit. "Poor little guy. Are you going to see if the vet thinks it's an ear infection?"

She shakes her head. "Oh, no, I know what it is."

"Oh yeah?"

She nods solemnly, leaning in close.

"Yes, dear, it's that Native American spirit fellow again, Chief Wompahasset, trying to communicate with me again."

Ladies and gentleman, this is my boss.

"Oh… uh, yeah?"

She nods matter-of-factly.

"Yes, dear. He reaches out now and again. He loves my work from my trip down to the southwest. I think he wants one of my photos to take back with him."

I clear my throat, searching for words. "Right. Right, yeah of course." I frown. "Back with him where, Mildred?"

She sighs, shaking her head and smiling patronizingly at me as if to say, "oh poor dear."

"The spirit realm, silly."

"Ah, yeah, of course," I nod, and she smiles.

"Anyways, I'll be back later this afternoon. Madame Yvonne—that's my medium, dear—said she can take us now if we hurry."

She slips her coat on and grabs her keys and bag before scurrying to the door.

"Call me if you need anything, Emile."

"Yep, will do."

"Well, don't actually call. Madame Yvonne says the spirit world hates to be interrupted by cell phones. The cell signals burn them, you know."

"I didn't, but now I do."

She smiles and taps her temple. "Knowledge is power, dear."

"I hope Mr. Tiddlywinks feels better."

She flashes a smile and a wave as she slips out the door.

Yikes.

I shake my head as I start to go through the store, taking notes on what needs to be stocked. Mildred might be completely nuts, but she's a sweetheart too, especially after she gave me a job out of the blue.

I hear the sound of the bell above the door clinking.

"Hey!" I call out, still in one of the back aisles of the small shop checking for stock. "Let me know if you need anything!"

"Y'all sell size five brushes?" A sort of weird, southern-drawled man's voice calls out.

"Yes, we do!" I call back. I put a smile on my face as I walk down the aisle towards the front of the shop. I stick my head out from the aisle, but blink as I see no one.

"Hello?"

"Back here, young man," the weird cowboy voice calls from further back in the store now.

"Oh, okay. Size five brushes are going to be in aisle two, with the rest of the brushes."

"How about size four brushes?"

I clear my throat. "Also, aisle two."

"What about size eights."

I roll my eyes. "Sir, all the brushes are going to be in aisle two."

"Even size ones?"

"Sir, every brush is there."

"Them size ones are purdy tiny."

I frown, heading down an aisle towards his voice. But when I get to the back of the store, he's gone again.

"Sir?"

"Hey what about sketchpads? You got them?"

No, dude, it's an art supply store that doesn't sell the thing eighty percent of the people who walk in here are looking for.

"Yes, we do," I say thinly. I frown again as I head back to the front of the store, but yet again, I've missed him.

"How about easels? You know, for paintin'?"

My jaw tightens as I glance around the store at the annoying voice that keeps dodging me.

"We do." I say tightly. "Sir, do you have a list of things you're looking for? Maybe I could help you shop."

"Naw, young man, you're doin' a fine job of helpin' me out. I'm going to the Art Institute of Chicago. Just got in, so I need all my paintin' stuff."

My brows raise. "Wow, congrats! That's a great school. I actually graduated there myself."

"Yeah? Well shee-it. How come you ain't doin' art right now?"

I frown, half running down an aisle for the front of the store again. And of course, he's not there.

"Pardon?"

"Art. How come you're working here instead of doing art?"

I scowl. "Well, sir, it's not exactly easy to make a living as an artist. And we've all got bills to pay."

"Yup, yup, I hear ya," he drawls from somewhere in the store.

"You ever thought about teaching?"

My heart skips, and my mouth tightens before I shake my head.

"No."

There's a silent moment before he speaks again.

"I think you'd be good at it, young man."

"Thanks," I say thinly. "I'll keep it in mind."

"You know, what you need is one of them patrons."

"Excuse me?"

"A patron. You know, like DaVinci had? You need one of them rich folks to support you in your pursuit of the muse, ya know?"

I laugh a brittle laugh.

"Yeah, well, if you know any, let me know."

"I might."

I jump startled. And it's not because the voice comes from right behind me, it's that this time, the goofy cowboy lilt is gone. It's that this time, I recognize his voice. And I recognize it because I'd know the sound of his voice anywhere.

I turn, and when my eyes drag up all over his face, his chiseled jaw, his perfect lips, his gorgeous blue eyes, my heart jumps into my throat.

"I—"

"Mr. Hayes," Ethan drawls quietly, his eyes burning like blue fire into mine.

"I—how—"

And then, I break. I rush into him, throwing my arms around him so tightly, like I'm afraid he might be an illusion. But I know that hard body I'm holding so tight. I know the smell of him. I know the feel of his arms as he wraps them around me.

"How are you here?!" I mumble into his shoulder, squeezing him so tight.

He chuckles as he leans down to kiss my temple.

"Heard this was the place to go for art supplies."

I laugh, kissing his jaw before I pull away."

"No, I mean here, in Chicago."

He shrugs that cocky, smug shrug and grins in that infuriatingly sexy way as I bite my lip.

"Because I live here now."

My jaw drops. "Wait, what?"

"I mean, I can't exactly commute to the Art Institute from Southworth. Shit, Emile, that's like a twenty-hour drive."

He just keeps grinning at me as I shake my head.

"Wait, wait, you're seriously going to AI?"

"Seriously."

My smile grows wider, and before I know it, and before I can even think about it, I'm falling into his arms and searing my lips to his. I moan as I kiss him, those big hands holding me so tight as I lose myself in the kiss, pouring my heart out into it.

Suddenly though, I yank away and jab a finger at him.

"Did you seriously drop out of Winchester?" I hiss, suddenly angry. Angry because him letting go of a golden ticket like that, even if it means him being here right now, is more than I can take.

"Damnit, Ethan! I told you, you have to grad—"

"Emile!" he laughs, pulling me close, his hands on my arms. "I did."

"In the month since I left?"

"Yup." He grins. "Finished my credits, took a few state-qualifying exams, and got my GED." He shrugs. "See this cute guy I know told me I should try applying myself from time to time."

I'm standing there, mouth open in surprise...But then I snap it closed and scowl again, shaking my head.

"Ethan you can't just—"

"I did," he says quietly. "I already did, Emile. I'm technically a high school graduate, and I took the portfolio I'd shown to Rhode Island School of Design and showed it to the admissions board at AI here in Chicago."

"And they accepted you halfway through a semester?"

He shrugs again, and this time it's my turn to grin smugly.

"Damn right they did," I purr softly, sliding back into him. "Because you're insanely talented."

He smiles. "Thanks."

"Anytime—"

"No, I mean thanks for kicking my ass to get it in gear," he says quietly before he leans down and kisses me softly.

"What did your dad say?"

He chuckles.

"He, uh, he has some opinions. But he respects mine." He grins. "Plus, I'm not just here to paint some pretty pictures, you know."

"Oh?" I arch a brow as he grins slyly.

"Nope."

"Well do tell. What else do you have up your sleeve, mister."

"An investment."

"What kind of investment?"

His smile grows, and his eyes burn into mine.

"You."

I blink. "What?"

"You're too fucking good to be working here and at that bar, Emile. You're way too fucking talented."

I swallow. "Ethan, I'm not looking for a handout," I say thinly.

"Good, because I'm not giving you one. What I'm giving you is an investment in your career. Capital for a real work space, supplies, show and gallery fees, and all of that."

My lips tighten. "You know some might call that a handout."

"Oh, you're gonna pay interest, believe me."

I laugh, punching his arm as he grins. "Ethan, all of that would be a lot of money."

"Yeah?" he reaches into his jacket pocket. "Would this work?" He hands me a folded-up check, and I swallow thickly as I take it. I glance at him, and he nods at. And slowly, I unfold the slip of paper, and my jaw drops.

…It's a check for five-hundred thousand dollars.

"Ethan!" I shout out in surprise. "No. No, absolutely—"

"Absolutely yes, you're taking it."

I shake my head. "Jesus Christ, where did you even get this kind of—"

"You know all of those rich trust fund douchebags at Winchester?"

I roll my eyes. "How could I forget."

"Right, well, turns out…" he grins. "Turns out I'm kinda one of them. I mean, not the douchebag part. At least mostly not."

"But the money?"

He nods. "It's part of the trust my dad set up for me."

I slowly shake my head, staring at the insane amount of money in my hands. "Ethan, I seriously can't accept this."

"You seriously can. And you will."

"What'd your dad say?"

"Emile, it's an investment, not a handout. And I showed him my homework on you."

"Your what?"

He laughs. "No, I mean, I showed him your work, and I showed him what artists who 'make it' can bring in with paintings, especially in a place like Chicago. My dad might be a lot like me, but he knows a sound investment when he sees one."

I balk. "Sound? What if…" I press my lips together and look down before I drag my eyes back to his. "What if I fail?"

"You won't."

"Okay, but what if I—"

"Emile."

I moan as he pulls me close, leaning in so his lips brush mine.

"You won't. Because I believe in you, and because you're too fucking good. And because someone back in Southworth wouldn't quit on me, and now I'm not going to quit on him. Not ever."

He growls as he pulls me close, his lips crushing to mine as I moan into his kiss. I melt into him, hugging him fiercely.

"Scale of one-to-ten, how much does your brother hate me?"

He chuckles.

"Takes two to tango, gorgeous. He gets that. Plus," he grins. "Plus, all of this gets me out of the house, and as much as I like my family, and as much as they love me, I think we all knew it was time for me to head out into the world."

"Wait so you're really going to AI?"

"I really am."

"And you're really living here?"

He grins, pushing his fingers through his dark hair.

"Well, technically. I don't exactly have a place to live yet, but I was sorta hoping I could bunk in with this guy I know."

I grin, wagging my brows at him. "You're asking if you can move in?"

"Yep."

"Bold move."

"Would you want me any other way?"

I shake my head. "Nope."

"Good," he purrs, pulling me close as he leans in again.

"I love you, Emile Hayes."

"I love you too, Ethan Scott," I reply.

"When are you off?"

I grin. "Why?"

"'Cause I want to draw you."

"Oh really? Like one of your French girls?"

He shakes his head as his lips brush mine.

"Actually, I was kidding about drawing you."

I make a fake pouty face, and he grins wickedly.

"I do want to take all of your clothes off. And I do want to draw you, I just had a few ideas for how to spend some time in between those two things."

"Just a few, huh?"

"You want the broad strokes or the detailed agenda?"

I moan as he pulls me against him and kisses me slow and deep.

"I have to wait for my boss to get back from the vet. No, the psychic." Ethan gives me a confused look and I shake my head. "Forget it, it's a long story."

"How about this then," he purrs. "New plan. You do what you gotta do, and I'll draw you. And then the second this boss of yours gets back, I'm dragging you outside to my bike, driving to your apartment, and then I'm going to pull every single piece of your clothes off with my teeth and make you beg."

I groan quietly, shivering, as my erection presses against my jeans. The shop goes quiet, and we're both standing there panting hungrily at each other before suddenly, we snap.

"Oh, fuck waiting," I gasp, jumping him. Our lips crash together as we stagger backwards. He pulls me into his arms, my back hits the front door. I reach back, fumbling for the lock as Ethan flips the "open" sign around to the "closed" side and pulls down the blinds.

"Fuck I missed you," he groans.

"Don't ever let me run away again, okay?"

He grins into my lips. "Even if I have to tie you down, you better believe it. I love you, gorgeous."

"I love you too."

We tumble to the floor behind the cashier's counter, and that's exactly where we stay for a very, very long time.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Ethan

A week after I got to Chicago, we moved in together in this big old artist space I found in Wicker Park. Big ceilings, big old factory windows with a ton of light, and tons of wall space for artwork.

Art school is great, but he's better. Actually, he's better than great. He's fucking amazing. And fuck is he killing it out there. He finally took my money—my "patronage," I guess you could call it, and used it to get himself set up on the road to doing art and only art. It's been a few months since I got here, but already, he's taking this town by storm. Emile's got work—new and old—up in four different galleries around the city right now. He's got an agent too, this super-driven woman named Jen who's setting him up for a major show circuit in a couple cities across the country. New York, San Francisco, L.A., and Miami.

Needless to say, I'm pretty fucking proud of him.

Love is never wrong. It's never "forbidden," it's just not understood sometimes. And I get that now. Actually, there's a lot I get now, a lot of it thanks to him I get that being a man isn't just being the toughest motherfucker around. It's protecting what's yours. It's owning up to your own bullshit and having the grace and dignity to know when you're wrong. It's having the balls to fix what needs fixing. It's laying it all on the line for the person who makes you feel alive.

Emile and I did end up causing quite the scandal back at Winchester when it got out that we were together. I mean, shit like that doesn't really ever stay bottled up. But fuck if either of us care now. I ended up keeping in touch with a few people, believe it or not. I mean, besides Jamison, that is. Turns out, Beckett Truman is a pretty cool dude, and we got to be pretty damn good friends, I learned that I wasn't the only one with a dirty little secret at Winchester. He didn't get me for the football team, but he did get the next best thing—my twin brother.

And as it happens, whatever drama everyone back home was devouring about Emile and I after it got out, it was pretty soon forgotten. After all, like I said, we were far from the only drama in that damn place. I mean, there was some pretty juicy details I picked up later about the swim coach, Coach Kirby, and… well, like I said, it was pretty fucking juicy. Then there was the thing with Zara Bateman, the band geek extraordinaire, and that guy from the football team. No, excuse me, not "guy."

"Guys."

…Scandalous place, that Winchester Academy.

And of course, all the shit that soon went down with my brother and… well, fuck it. That's not my kiss to tell about. All I know is, life found a way. We found a way. Emile and I found a new life, a life for just the two of us. And I found redemption. I found the love of my life. I found my masterpiece. And you better be damn sure I'm going to hang on to it as tight as I can.

**.The End.**


End file.
